Blood Bound
by Out-Of-Control-Authoress
Summary: The result of the attack on Malfoy Mansion was disastrous. Hope is lost...almost. A Chosen One runs, seeking to end the Dark Lord's tyrannous reign forever. They must find him...or doom the magical world to a hellish, shadowy end. YGOxHP
1. Out of the Oven

Welcome, readers. For those of you who were part of _No Strings Attached_, here is your sequel. For those of you who have so happened to click on this without having read part I...never fear. You can choose one of two options:

1) Head onto my profile and read the first story of this group. There is a prequel, however it is not finished and isn't necessary to the story.

2) Skip the first one. I'm going to explain things well enough in the first few chapters of this fic. You may get a tad confused, but I'm sure you can barrel through it. I mean, the grammar in the first story was just awful, and I'm sure that you don't feel like braving that. (I don't blame you at all)

So choose. For those of you who are continuing on, here is chapter one of _Blood-Bound_!

This is a Harry Potter, Yu-Gi-Oh crossover. The starring Yu-Gi-Oh characters are Ryou, Bakura, and Malik Ishtar. They are in the "Harry Potter" universe (to an extent).

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor do I own Yu-Gi-Oh.

Chapter One

Out of the Oven

"Draco, duck!"

The vampire leapt at the blonde wizard, and with a foul curse, the young man threw himself onto the ground to avoid the creature's assault.

Fighting. Struggle. Desperation.

Ryou wasn't sure of the exact point when those three things became the best descriptions of his life.

"Use one of your cards!" Draco shouted, scrambling to his feet and throwing his wand arm outwards. Before he could cast a spell, the creature swiped at him. Draco barely dodged the movement. His panicked gaze met Ryou's. "At least do it before this thing _kills_ me!"

Ryou didn't need another hint. His fingers moved with practiced speed and pulled a card from his deck. He extended his arm towards the beast.

_"Earl of Demise!" _He shouted, the familiar power flowing from his core and down his arm into the card. The creature exploded from a vortex of blackness, its grotesque face barely inches away from their enemy.

The creature snarled and leapt out of the Earl's range.

Draco spat blood from his mouth. He hadn't been entirely successful in dodging the creature, that was for sure. "Haven't seen so many bloody vampires in my life."

"It's not just them," Ryou pointed out, mentally urging the Earl of Demise to attack the vampire. "It's any magical creature working under _Him_."

"Yes," Draco answered dryly, straightening. "We've learned not to say his name, haven't we?"

Ryou rolled his eyes, choosing not to dignify Draco's snarky words with a response.

_"I could always just take control and beat the attitude out of him."_

Ryou sighed. _- We're not going to go around hurting our companions, okay? We don't have so many left. - _

Ever since Ryou and Malik had been ambushed and captured by the Death Eaters in London, which seemed to be such a long time ago, they had been fighting. They had been transported to the Malfoy Manor, where they met Draco. It wasn't long after that they formed a tentative alliance with the young wizard, who desired to rebel against his father and the Dark Lord that he served.

Upon being sent to Hogwarts so that their magic could adjust to that of the wizards' magic, they had met and allied with a young witch named Luna and a young wizard named Neville Longbottom. Ryou, Malik, and Ryou's yami knew the implications of being in a place so saturated with the wizards' magic. Their Shadow Magic couldn't function easily at Hogwarts, and it'd taken far, far too long for it to finally be able to adjust and flow around the foreign power.

That was when their alliance with Draco had strengthened to trust out of desperation for help. Shortly after, they had debuted to Hogwarts' student rebellion. They hadn't gone far, though. Things had gone downhill too quickly for them to make any ties, and Draco was captured by the Death Eaters. Ryou and Malik had escaped the castle to rescue him and save Ryou's father, who had been taken prisoner as incentive for them to obey the Dark Lord.

When they located the Malfoy Manor, where both Draco and Ryou's father were being kept, things had become irreversibly bad. They had fought the Dark Lord and his lackeys, and had paid a dear price for Draco's freedom.

Ryou's father had been killed as a punishment for rebelliousness. Malik had given his life to give Ryou an escape.

_- Almost two weeks, - _Ryou thought quietly, _- and we still haven't recovered from that attack. - _

_"Did you expect the grief to pass so quickly?" _the Spirit of the Ring deadpanned.

Ryou supposed that he hadn't.

_"Stupefy!" _

The vampire's body seized up and the creature fell, motionless, to the ground. Soft snarls could be heard from it, its beady red eyes darting around in a blind rage.

"Why not just kill it?" Ryou queried, though the question sounded harsh even to his own lips. It had come more from Bakura's thoughts than his own he thought, but things had been jumbled and mixed between the two for the past little while. They had been pooling their power in a hope of strengthening their magic somewhat, but that served only to cause their personalities to mix in a very unnatural way. It often caused confusion in character, something that was becoming increasingly uncomfortable for Ryou.

He had always known that similarities to one another, such as Ryou becoming more cynical or Bakura becoming less violent, were things that were bound to happen. Coexisting in the way that they did guaranteed that to happen. However, such an overlap of personality was causing trouble and no lack of headaches for the both of them.

Draco took the question with a grain of salt, having been let in on the situation. "Every time a wizard kills something with a spell like that," he explained slowly, not for the first time, "a part of his soul is ripped off. This is what _He _did, how _He _became so powerful. I refuse to bear any similarity."

Ryou instantly felt bad for asking the question and reprimanded himself for it. He should have trusted that Draco would have a good enough reason. He understood not wanting to become something evil. He and Bakura fought with that temptation nearly every waking moment.

Bakura didn't really want to think about that, and promptly interrupted.

_"I'll kill it," _he grumbled, _"since everyone seems to be sidestepping the necessity of it."_

Ryou didn't argue. He was well aware of his boundaries, and killing something living when he was in any normal state of mind was something past his boundaries. Past many of his boundaries.

Bakura knew this, and also knew that he had to tiptoe around Ryou's state very carefully. Pushing his hikari was only going to prove extremely problematic later on, and he didn't want to cause Ryou any more pain than he'd already been put through.

Ryou let himself be carried back into his mind, Bakura gently shutting his senses as he killed the creature with the dagger in his coat pocket.

Draco Malfoy, however, watched the killing with a revolted expression on his face. His expression became even more disgusted as the creature exploded into a mix of green gas and dust. "You know, I almost would have preferred to give up part of my soul than watch you do _that_." The comment was snippy, and definitely a little unwarranted.

This was just something that seemed to define Draco's personality: boundless sarcasm. It was irritating, sometimes.

"Then close your eyes," Bakura snarled at him, pulling the dagger out and wiping the creatures blood and other unmentionables onto the grass.

The Earl moaned, likely frustrated at having the deed taken away from it. Bakura glowered at the creature and dismissed it. It vanished in a thin cloak of shadow.

"Your monsters are so goddamn creepy," Draco complained, pocketing his wand. The young man ran a hand through his hair, bangs falling over into his eyes. There wasn't a time where he'd wished for hair gel more than he'd been wishing lately.

_"Take control."_

_- Okay. - _

Draco watched with interest as the Millennium Ring, exposed over the front of Ryou's black t-shirt, glowed white to signify the switch. Red eyes closed, opening brown a moment later.

Ryou sighed, feeling the familiar wave of nausea spread over him. Using Shadow Magic, no matter how minimal, had been like this for some time now. Bakura had mulled over 'why' a lot more than Ryou had, but it seemed that no conclusions had been drawn. He was suspicious of a few things, but had refused to let Ryou in on what those could possibly be. He knew that Bakura didn't want to worry him about things. Not right now. Not after everything that had happened.

"You okay?" Draco ventured slowly, having noticed Ryou's sickly expression. The white-haired male realized this quickly, and tried to look neutral. Draco wasn't fooled.

He sighed. Draco had known that things were going to be slow in the trust department. Simply being a wizard didn't win him any points, and after everything that the three Shadow Masters had been through, they weren't looking to give a whole bucket load of trust out in the first place.

That said, Draco had learned some things since the escape from his home. He had learned little about their magic, other than that they summoned monsters from a place known as the Shadow Realm. He had also learned that Ryou used a "cult-style" deck to summon from.

Otherwise, he hadn't learned much about their magic or about their pasts than he'd known before. What he had learned about, however, was what they were _like_.

Well, mostly Ryou and Bakura. Learning about Malik was...

Regardless, he'd learned quite a bit about the other two. Ryou had always been the gentler of them, but he had a strength of heart that far outweighed any negatives of his gentleness. When someone he cared for was in danger, Ryou could carry out any number of tasks to save them. His caring nature extended to all things that he did, but that didn't make him weak and it didn't make him merciful when his friends or loved ones were concerned.

Bakura was another story altogether. Though he certainly seemed to have a sense of companionship, he maintained a fierce protectiveness for Ryou to the exclusion of almost all else. If Bakura had to choose between you and Ryou, your fate wasn't looking to good. Bakura was ruthless, too. He had no issues with ending the life of any creature, human or not. He was a predator in all possible ways, and it was something that chilled Draco to the bone like nothing else.

The two of them, however, synchronized in such an outrageously perfect way that Draco often found himself unable to distinguish between them. It was ludicrous, of course, since they were so different. However, Ryou had once explained to him that that was natural. As two halves of one whole, most people wouldn't be able to discern the two personalities. Only people that knew that they were two separate souls, or those that were familiar with Shadow Magic, could consciously tell the difference.

Draco had been sceptical. How did people not notice when Ryou suddenly became cold or violent?

Ryou had smiled sadly at this and said: _"sometimes, people blind themselves from the truth because natural laws say it's impossible. They don't accept that the world is quite abnormal, and that the human perception of nature is solely based on that which they have seen. When magical worlds are so exclusive, you really can't blame people for being blind to the truth."_

Draco hadn't really had any words for that. Ryou had spoken nothing but truths, and Draco had once again been floored by Ryou's perceptiveness and how attuned he was to the world and the people in it.

A growl from somewhere nearby. Draco spun, throwing his wand arm out in the direction of the sound.

Another one of those stupid vampires was lurking at the edge of the forest. Draco should have known. Vampires didn't travel in packs, luckily. They did, however, _always_ travel in pairs.

The creature remained skirting the edge of the forest, just barely ten metres away. Draco glanced at Ryou, who wasn't moving either. From the still-sick expression on his face, Draco knew that a lot more of the two of them switching was going to be a problem.

"I suppose," Draco said dryly, catching the attention of the snarling, red-eyed beast, "that I should have expected karma to make me eat my words sooner or later. Pity it wasn't later."

Provoked by the sound of him speaking, the creature lunged. Draco wasn't fazed. He extended his arm outwards, pointing his wand directly at the monster's chest.

_"Avada Kedavra!" _He cried, and the green spell exploded outwards and slammed into the creature's torso. It spun midair before hitting the ground with the sickening crunch of bones breaking. Draco winced.

The creature's body exploded like the first one, and Draco wrinkled his nose as a putrid stench wafted past. He wiped the sweat from his face with his shirtsleeve, inhaling and exhaling very slowly to calm himself.

"I'm sorry..." Ryou whispered, and though is voice was soft, it cut through the silent tension like a knife.

Draco waved his apology off, feeling disgusted with himself. It was better when it wasn't human. He could deal with that much easier than he could when it _was_ a human. Like when he'd killed that Death Eater back at the mansion. Like any other time, few that they were, he had committed murder.

He should have realized way back, every time that he got sick from it, every time that he felt that aching sensation of regret, that he wasn't cut out for being a minion of evil. He didn't care for all of the fluffy hero stuff, but he didn't care for being a monster, either.

He straightened and stretched his arms upwards. "Let's just go back to the inn," he suggested. "I'm going to be pissed right off if I have to kill another stupid vampire, again."

Ryou's lips twitched in amusement, but he nodded and turned. Draco jogged up beside him, and the two of them returned back towards the small town that they'd been hiding in. Lights sprang up around the farmland.

They had only been outside the city because Ryou had felt magic off towards the forested area. They had hoped it would be Harry and his merry duo of cheerleaders. Draco had been frustrated and disappointed when it had turned out that whoever it'd been had apparated out of the forest before they arrived.

Ryou pulled a small set of keys out of his pocket and pointed them forwards. Out of the darkness, a pair of headlights flashed.

They had stolen a car somewhere back in London, right after they had rushed to buy all of the clothing and necessities that they had lost between escaping Hogwarts and attacking the mansion. Draco had nothing but wizard money with him, and had had to leech off of Ryou. Ryou had admitted that most of the money had been pick-pocketed as they were on the way to the store.

Draco wasn't sure if he was supposed to reprimand the theft or just be impressed that Bakura had managed that without Draco even noticing it.

Ryou pulled open the driver's door and hopped into the car, starting the engine as to relieve himself from some of the cold. It'd been a tad chilly in good old Britain, lately. Draco agreed with Ryou's sentiment and got into the passenger seat with equally undue haste.

Ryou drove it off of the grass and onto the gravel road, eyes focused intently ahead of him.

"When did you learn to drive?" Draco queried after a moment. "You can't be much over seventeen."

"I _am_ seventeen. And I _don't_ know how to drive. Not really." He cast Draco an apologetic, tentative smile. "Whatever I know has been through watching others driving and from what little tips I was given from..." he trailed off, brow creasing.

"...Malik?"

Ryou paled slightly, and nodded. "Yes."

"That reminds me: we need to pick up some food before we get back to the motel," Draco murmured, slumping down in his seat. The seatbelt was irritating, and Draco had half a mind to take it off, but Ryou having had admitted to not being a practiced driver gave him enough incentive to keep the stupid thing on.

Besides, Draco wasn't extremely comfortable with cars in the first place. He'd seen a few in his lifetime, but they had never really been necessary and his father had preferred other modes of travel. This was only the third or fourth time he'd ridden in a car at all.

But Ryou's revelation _did _explain why he'd always driven so _slowly_.

Draco leaned back in the seat, eyelids drooping. It was shocking, even still, how much he'd gone through in the short time that he'd known the three of them. It had barely been...two months, perhaps? He didn't even count the days, anymore. He preferred not to sound sappy, and thus didn't voice this, but it felt sort of like he'd known them for a lot longer.

However, he was still frustrated with how secretive they all were. According to whatever hints they'd dropped, though, they had _always _been that way.

The drive was long and slow. They hadn't gone outrageously far out of town, but it'd still been enough that Draco was decidedly _bored_ on the ride back.

"I'm sorry," Ryou said suddenly, cutting the silence, "that you lost your mother."

Draco didn't meet Ryou's eyes. He was still hurting over that. Having lost his mother was the toughest thing he'd gone through. He had been reclusive for days, as much if not more so than Ryou had been.

"It's fine," he said, and winced at how much of a lie they both knew that was.

"It's not," Ryou persisted, switching gears as they moved onto a main road of the town. People milled about, completely oblivious to the fact that magical convicts were driving right past them.

Draco sighed, running his finger along the foggy glass. "So what? I don't mean to sound harsh, but pity isn't going to bring my mother back." He watched as the condensation made tiny, almost like tears, down the clear line he'd drawn. "It won't bring your father back, either."

He sort of felt bad for saying it once the words were out of his mouth. Still, he stared out the fogged window, praying that Ryou wasn't feeling any more chatty. Thinking about his mother put him in a bit of a mood.

He got his way. Ryou didn't answer, and instead drove silently through the thin streets. He turned a sharp left, and apologized in a muffled voice for the action. Draco murmured a short response, but other than that, no further words were exchanged.

It'd been like that for some time. Draco had never thought of himself to be a man of few words, but lately it'd seemed that there weren't words to give. It frustrated the typically well-spoken (although admittedly foul-mouthed) wizard like nothing else.

He folded his hands, digging his nails into the opposite palm.

His mother.

Bellatrix.

There was nothing that Draco wanted more than to spill that wicked woman's blood all across London. That she could even spill the blood of his mother...it disgusted him. Bellatrix had always proclaimed how much she loved her "sissy". Killing his mother made Bellatrix even lower than the dirt he'd already thought that she was.

He would kill her. It had to be by _his_ hand. He would kill whoever got in his way. He didn't care if it was Potter. He didn't care if it was the Dark Lord. He would stop at nothing.

"Calm yourself."

Draco blinked, mind snapping back to reality. He was made suddenly aware of a cool hand on both of his, and when Ryou pulled back, red stained his nearly snow-white palm.

"Was I...?" he mumbled, staring at his cut, stinging palm with a sort of sick entrancement.

Ryou's expression was worried. "You can clean it when we get back to the motel."

"My nails aren't _that _dirty."

Ryou's lips twitched. Barely. "...Regardless, you should clean it."

Draco sighed and stuffed his hand into his pocket, glaring out the windshield. Another perfect instalment to another perfect day. He rolled his eyes at his own thoughts. The angst was positively suffocating.

The car slowed to a stop, and Ryou shifted it into "park". Draco met Ryou's eyes curiously. The white-haired sorcerer gestured out his window, where the small grocer's shop sat, people rushing in and out.

"I'll go," Ryou offered, and without waiting for a response, he hopped out of the car and left Draco in the passenger seat.

Self-consciously, Draco locked the car and slid even further down his seat. He'd grown awfully wary of being alone. He supposed that it was more good than bad, considering the general situation.

The general situation of having utterly _failed_ in attacking his mansion, the general situation of having lost comrades and loved ones. The general situation that just reeked of everything that they'd sacrificed, of everything that they hadn't achieved from those sacrifices.

He was disgusted by it.

It seemed, however, that they lost from the moment that Fate stepped in. Something had been bound and determined for Malik to die by Bellatrix's hand. Fighting her had done nothing. Intimidating her had done nothing. Threats had done nothing. Disarming her had perhaps only delayed her. She had still found someone else's wand to use, and had still _killed_ Malik that night.

How was it that Potter could cheat death so many times, and yet Malik had been unable to?

When he'd voiced this to Ryou, Ryou had smiled sadly and said that, perhaps, his chances had run out a long, long time ago. After all, chances were not granted to villains, no matter how repentant they may be.

Draco had frowned and said that that sounded cynical, even to him. Ryou had only laughed in response. The conversation had ended there, and Draco hadn't dared let the topic resurface. He knew a touchy subject when confronted with one.

He was worried, though. Draco wasn't much for martyrdom. He didn't want to just go down trying like some kind of idiot who bit off more than he could chew. Draco wanted to actually _do _something. He knew it sounded childish, even selfish, but he sort of wanted to live to tell the tale.

Draco knew, though, that he could and would give his life for this war. He'd gone far past the figurative and literal point of no return. Even so much as glancing back would just be a waste of time. He had to do everything and anything to end this, however he could.

And if that meant that they needed to find Potter and his friends, then that was what they were going to do.

Besides, it wasn't like he was going to be getting out of the situation anyways. He was essentially bound to their Shadow Magic, now. He was going to have to stick around for a long, long time. He agreed with Bakura on one thing: that was going to become a very problematic point if and when the war ended.

Draco had no illusions about settling down. He was sick of the fighting. He wanted a _normal_ wizard's life, however he could get that.

He snorted at his own thought. If anyone heard him mumbling anything of _that_ sort, they'd write him off as stir-crazy. Draco Malfoy wanting anything resembling normal? Blasphemous. Complete and utter lunacy.

Because _everyone_ seemed to know him _so _well.

He pulled his hand out of his pocket, fingers curling over the thin nail-marks in his palm. He was sick of the part he'd been playing all of his life. Finally, _finally_ he was free to do what _he_ wanted. No more expectations.

He glanced out the window at the people on the street, parents herding their children through the chilly air, couples hand-in-hand, teenagers biking past.

Since when did Draco Malfoy envy _muggles_?

Poppycock. The weather was getting to him.

There was a sudden tap on the window. Draco jumped nearly two feet, hand reaching into his breast pocket for his wand. His head snapped in the direction of the intruder.

Ryou waved quickly, breath fogging on the glass. Draco took in a shaky breath to calm his heart and popped the lock.

Ryou pulled the door open and tossed two plastic bags into the back seat of the car. He closed the door quickly and rubbed his hands together.

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "That was awfully fast."

"I had motivation for speediness," Ryou explained a little sheepishly. "I know that we shouldn't be leaving each other alone. It's not safe."

"Do you think they would find us here?" Draco asked, trying to sound the sceptic and failing. His anxiety showed through. "I mean, we're fairly off the radar."

"'Fairly' isn't good enough to let our guard down," Ryou answered plainly, shifting the car back into gear and pulling onto the road.

The radio came on, playing an odd muggle tune that Draco found entirely unappealing.

"We're in bad shape," Draco commented. It wasn't so much conversation than a statement of fact.

Ryou smiled softly. "Yes," he agreed, "we are. But we're not down and out. Not yet."

He had to give Ryou points for the optimism.

Draco glanced out the windshield. He could see the sign for their inn coming up. The shop hadn't been far from where they were staying.

"We can eat inside," Ryou promised. They hadn't had anything that day, and it was nearly dinnertime. The mentioning of food brought a gnawing to Draco's stomach.

Ryou pulled into a small lot behind the inn, and Draco grabbed the bags. He hopped out of the car before Ryou even managed to park and stop the thing. He really wasn't comfortable in cars, no matter how short the trip. He would have even preferred Floo powder.

Ryou pocketed the keys as he also jumped out, locking the vehicle in the process. They moved silently to the front, walking into the warm entrance with much relief.

Draco's eyes flickered to the clock hanging above the clerk's desk. "We're going to be in trouble," he said. "We've been gone for some time."

"Not too long," Ryou assured him as they walked down the hallway of the one-level inn. Noise from the restaurant-and-pub reverberated off of the walls. Draco had to admit - it was the biggest dump he'd ever been forced to stay in. Low-profile had been the only way to go, and he'd been told quite plainly to suck it up.

Ryou fumbled in his pocket for the key to the room, and after a few moments, retrieved it and slipped it into the keyhole. Draco followed him inside, dropping the bags onto the table.

"Oi," he called, probably louder than necessary, "we're back."

Ryou stepped out of his shoes and padded into the room. "We brought some food, Malik."

The blonde sat up from the bed, grinning around the corner. "Took you guys long enough."

End Chapter

Didn't expect that, did you? (grins evilly)

Well. There we go. Chapter one.

I hope you enjoyed. Drop a review for me on your way out. I'll answer any questions in either a PM or in a note on the next chapter.

Much thanks,

Out-Of-Control-Authoress


	2. Slate

Okay, so people had some questions about why Malik was alive, how he was alive, etcetera. I would just like you to know that this chapter is designed to explain that idea. Remember that I take a lot of creative licence with things like Shadow Magic and how it works and connections between the characters that are "yami" and "hikari", amongst other things. If you aren't aware of these, they become major themes in the story and I'd suggest that you address "The Connection" specifically to understand some of these thingies.

That said, a lot of you guessed, and some of you actually guessed right. I'm not sure whether to be impressed with your deduction skills or depressed with my ability to write plot twists...

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh or Harry Potter.

Chapter Two

Slate

"Sorry," Ryou apologized, turning back around to rifle in his bag of groceries. "We found a pair of vampires."

"And we're not lying," Draco added, kicking off his shoes and falling back onto the open bed. The blonde ran a hand through his hair, curling his lip when some dried blood came off.

Malik raised an eyebrow at the red stain that came off onto the wizard's hand. He glanced at Ryou, who also looked vaguely beaten up. "You guys got hurt?"

"Yami and I were..." Ryou trailed off for a moment, looking indecisive. "...Having problems," he finished finally. Draco's eyes sharpened, and Malik knew that the young wizard had a decent idea of what Ryou was referring to.

Ryou suddenly tossed a box of crackers at Malik. Malik let it fly over his head and hit the pillow before slowly rotating to pick it up. The movement was utterly agonizing.

Ryou looked apologetic, as if suddenly recalling why Malik wasn't able to go with them in the first place. "Does it need redressing?" Ryou queried softly. Draco visibly winced at the prospect.

Malik didn't really want to say 'yes', just because he didn't want to have to look at the disgusting mess that had been his chest. He had wished that they'd known about the violent reaction between their magic and the _avada kedavra_ curse before he'd gone and sacrificed himself. At least then he'd have been slightly prepared for the gruesome result.

"Into the bathroom," Ryou instructed, completely forgetting about their food and focusing entirely on Malik. He wasn't going to win now. Ryou was totally on a mission.

The Egyptian sighed, letting Ryou help him stand and move him into the bathroom. He sat slowly down onto the lid of the toilet. The motions to undo his shirt were jerky at best. They had decided to make him wear button-up shirts, because pulling something over his head was going to be nearly impossible for awhile.

When Malik finally got the last button done, Ryou pulled the shirt back over his shoulders. His face went almost as white as his hair when he got a look at the cloth dressings. The dressings were almost black from the collarbone and down past the ribcage. Not a hint of the previously-white bandages could be seen.

"That's not entirely new," Draco observed from the doorway, "has it been that bad since before we left?"

Malik glared at Draco. Draco just examined his nails innocently, feeling no remorse for tattling on the injured male.

Ryou's own glare could have frozen fire. Malik sighed and glanced away, feeling a embarrassed and chagrined.

"Stop trying to do this by yourself," Ryou said quietly, unpinning the bandage and beginning to unwrap the entire length.

Malik flushed. "I can take care of myself."

"Not when the magic..." Ryou trailed off, face going whiter as he exposed the gruesome wound, "...when it does this to you. Not when you're _this_ injured."

The wound started from the right side of Malik's chest, extending like a lightning bolt to the end of his ribcage on the other side. Along the outside was a layer of puckered skin, dark from dried blood. The wound itself was gaping, deep enough that it was completely crippling for Malik but shallow enough that it didn't go to the bone. If anything, Malik was thankful that it hadn't gone that deep.

Still, there was a nasty film of yellow throughout it, something that Ryou was constantly and almost frantically tending to. Preventing infection, he'd said. Malik just figured that Ryou couldn't stomach seeing Malik like this. He knew that Ryou felt guilty over everything.

Draco had already begun wetting a towel, wringing the lukewarm water into the sink. This had become routine for them - Ryou and Draco going out when a lead came, cleaning Malik's wound when they got back, eating, planning, redressing the wound for the night and then repeating the entire routine when they got back.

_"Be thankful," _Bakura whispered across Ryou's mind, _"that though wounded, he is alive."_

_- I know. But still... - _

_"I understand."_

And Bakura meant that. He could understand Ryou's guilt and anger and pain. Seeing a friend so grievously wounded and feeling that the injury was his fault...Bakura saw that every day that he looked in a mirror. The scars of his recklessness with Ryou's body, seemingly so long ago, were things that Bakura could never erase. It was the same with the guilt: irreparable.

"The colour isn't entirely bad," Ryou observed, carefully tracing the edges of the wound with the cloth that Draco had given him. "I think it means that your body is trying to scab over the wound."

"If it means less bleeding," Malik murmured breathlessly, wincing with every moment that the cloth touched his agonizingly sensitive skin. He hated cleaning it more than anything.

Ryou's eyes narrowed in pain. "I wish that we could take you to a hospital."

Malik sighed, the breath ruffling his bangs. "Ryou, what's done is done. Stop moping."

When he finally looked up into Ryou's brown eyes, though, he could see his own hypocrisy reflected there. He should have been taking his own advice. Had he stopped moping about what had happened? He'd be a liar if he said yes.

Figures that that bastard would have managed to make Malik miserable just by doing something good. All of his existence, he'd been nothing but a monster. Then he had to go and do something decent, for once?

It just pissed Malik off. He hated Marik for doing that. He hated Marik for making him guilty. Worst of all, however, he hated being in his debt.

Because there was no way that he was going to be able to pay back the sacrifice of a life. Marik giving himself up like that pretty much indebted Malik to him _forever_. Which was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

He had definitely never, not once since he'd been aware of his other "half's" existence, pinned Marik as much of a martyr.

But it figured. Marik would go and do something like that. Anything to totally screw with Malik, right? It was how things had always been with the two of them. Ra forbid Marik act any differently. Ra forbid Marik _not_ make Malik miserable.

The only problem with all of that frustration was that Malik knew exactly what the problem was, and it wasn't Marik. Blaming Marik was only a diversion from the real problem:

Malik missed him.

He hated admitting that. It made him want to gag and then slap himself and take a shower or something.

He had cracked and talked to Ryou about it a day or so ago. Ryou had just smiled sadly and said something about Marik, possibly, having truly become Malik's other half. It sure seemed like it, to him.

Malik had thrown something of a non-physical hissy fit. Biting words and all of that, but he couldn't go hit anything because he was so flipping injured. Of all of it, he hated being useless. It drove him utterly up the wall.

But, he supposed, it seemed like _everything_ had been driving him up the wall.

A jolt of pain ripped him out of his thoughts, and he cursed out loud in Japanese. Draco's eyebrows shot up, as if he wanted to ask what had been said. Ryou merely closed his eyes, took a moment, and then went back to his work.

Malik knew that every time Ryou changed his bandages, it killed him a little bit.

See, this was why he should have taken that other damn door. Making Ryou live with this guilt, having to keep up a useless body...Malik wasn't contributing at all. He was only holding them back.

Draco - who was obviously getting a little bored - hopped up to sit on the counter, kicking his feet absently. It made him seem a lot younger than he was, and those simple actions always made Malik realize that Draco really was just a teenager. He was the same age as them, yes, but innocent of Shadow Magic. It added a certain level of naiveté to him that threw him off at really random moments.

"Locating Potter and his merry band is going to be hard," Draco said suddenly, mostly out of boredom. "I think we need to move towns, soon."

"I agree," Ryou rumbled, voice deep in concentration. His eyes flickered from brown, to red, and then back to brown. Malik would have liked to call it a trick of the light, but he knew that weird things were going on with Ryou and Bakura. Things that they were going to have to chat about sometime when Draco wasn't around. Not that Malik didn't trust him...

...he just didn't _trust_ him. Not yet.

"That sounded like a disjointed thought," Malik commented, staring at Draco. "Connect it, please."

"What?" Draco's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the snippy tone.

"He's saying," Ryou interjected for Malik's benefit, "that we need to move towns because we're on a dead lead, here. We're grasping at nothing, and we can't just sit around here waiting to get caught when there's nothing here that can benefit us."

"Exactly, but I said it in not so many words." Draco's smile was diabolically cheeky. Malik kind of wanted to smack the grin off of his face.

Had circumstances not forced them to work together, to get along, Malik knew that he probably would have downright _loathed_ Draco Malfoy. The kid was a snob, and though that could be blamed on his upbringing, it didn't make the guy any more likeable.

Or maybe Malik was just being too touchy. He sighed. It was probably that, more than anything Draco was really doing. Sure, the kid had a bit of a mouth on him, but didn't they all?

Malik sighed and winced as Ryou finished bandaging him, clipping the finished work together with a click of his tongue.

"There," Ryou said quietly, "that should do for a few hours."

Malik shot him a deadpan look. "We won't have to change them again until morning."

Ryou shook his head. "No, we'll do it before you go to bed. I don't trust that wound, Malik. We don't know if it'll be infected because of the magic." For effect, Ryou moved his hand towards Malik's now-bandaged chest. They all watched as energy black as a cloak crackled across Malik's skin and jarred Ryou's hand away. "I've never seen an injury so infested with magic."

"Neither have I." Malik glanced up at Draco, wondering if the comment was meant to be snide. Instead, the concern on Draco's face told a different story, and Malik dutifully kept his mouth shut.

Draco's words gave Ryou all of the ammunition that he needed. Again. "Which is exactly what worries me," the white-haired male said. There was a distinct tone of finality in Ryou's voice that gave off some serious 'argue and die' vibes.

It was always scary when that happened, because it was a hundred percent Ryou. No Bakura involved. Not when Ryou got that scary.

Which was always something interesting to try to explain to Yugi and his friends, who had actually never witnessed Ryou's wrath.

Malik, however, being quite familiar with the aforementioned wrath, decided that shutting up and doing as Ryou asked was the only way he was going to survive the night.

Malik grasped the end of the counter, using it as a prop to stand. Ryou was at his side immediately, arms extended slightly outwards as a means of catching Malik, should he fall.

Malik gritted his teeth. Weak. Weak, weak, weak. He was sickened that this was what he'd become, what he'd been reduced to. Having to depend so utterly on others for something as simple as moving from a bathroom to a bed was against his nature in every possible way. Malik was dependent only on himself, always had been, and this necessary dependency was rubbing him the wrong way. The frustration must have seeped into his expression, because he caught Draco's sympathetic gaze.

He ignored it. Sympathy was only an extension of pity for his situation, and that was the absolute last thing that Malik needed.

Ryou kept his gaze downwards, focusing on other things. Most likely talking to his other half.

Malik ignored the sudden pang in his chest, dismissing it as heartburn, or something. Anything but remorse. Anything but missing _that bastard_.

When he finally did catch Ryou's gaze, just as he was lowering himself onto the bed, there was no sympathy there. The only thing he could see behind those dark eyes was guilt. The depths of Ryou's guilt were endless.

It served no purpose other than to make Malik feel guilty, too. He knew that it wasn't Ryou's intention, but it didn't change the fact.

"Is there no healing power in your magic?" Draco asked suddenly, nearly startling Malik and visibly startling Ryou.

Malik shifted himself to lean back against the already-propped-up pillows on his bed. "Yes. Usually. But it's not like yours."

"How so?"

Ryou sat at the foot of Malik's bed, and Draco subsequently dropped onto the opposite bed. It looked like they were in for a long conversation.

Wonderful.

"Our magic heals us at a cost," Ryou began to explain. Then, he blinked and tapped his lip in thought. "Haven't we explained this to you, before?"

"If you have, I don't remember it," Draco defended, looking a little flustered. He obviously didn't like having anything about him questioned, and that seemed to extend to his memory.

Honestly, Malik didn't understand how the kid survived when he was so touchy about himself. It almost seemed to be a bit of a self-harming thing. He caused himself major anxiety worrying about everything.

Malik rolled his eyes, feeling slightly hypocritical after thinking that.

"_Any_ usage of Shadow Magic comes at a _cost_," Ryou explained. "We shorten our lifespan with every 'spell' that we cast. It's not usually by much. Common Shadow Magic only removes a second or two to a Master's life. It adds up eventually, though." Ryou was paling with every sentence spoken. Malik knew how much he hated talking about their magic, how much he hated facing the reality of the power he'd been cursed with.

"There are certain particular things that come at greater costs," Ryou continued. "Healing is one of those particulars. Our magic often does it automatically when we're noticeably injured, unless it's self-inflicted." Ryou went quiet for a moment, almost reflectively, before taking a breath and speaking once more. "If it's self-inflicted, it can't be healed."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. He'd definitely made the connection there.

"It's like an eject button," Malik intervened, cutting Ryou off from having to travel down _that _particular road. "It's a natural defence mechanism designed to give us an out if and when we need it."

"Ah," the wizard replied throatily, troubled with the thought. It was obviously something that wizards weren't familiar with. Suicide as a means of escaping their magic was probably altogether unheard of.

"Anyways, our magic also has a lot of loopholes and rules. We seem to have just discovered," and this was spoken with a touch of disparagement, "that healing injuries inflicted by your killing spell is a problem."

"It's probably another natural thing," Malik observed, "so that your magic has a defence against us."

"You can barely use yours when ours is highly concentrated," Draco snapped touchily, "so I'd hardly say that we need defence."

"It became quite plain during our time at Hogwarts that we only need exposure and adapting time to be able to function around your magic," Ryou answered. He considered that for a moment before adding: "perhaps barring only a being made up entirely of magic, like your Dark Lord, because we still have trouble with him."

"I noticed."

Malik snorted at the snarky answer. "Our magic is still infinitely more powerful, though. Why do you think that he wanted us in the first place? We could overpower a wizard any day of the week."

Draco didn't look particularly perturbed, but he did look like he still wanted to argue.

"Our magic draws upon another realm entirely. It gives us a much larger source of power to draw from." Ryou said.

"Haven't you two been running into problems with not having enough power to 'draw upon'?" Draco queried.

Ryou's lips quirked without humour. "I suppose I didn't explain that properly. Each Master has a pool of power to draw from, sort of like a line of credit. We can only use so much before we max it out. But that doesn't mean that there isn't more there. Our power comes from a completely external source. It's quite unlike your magic, which comes entirely from within the wizard."

"So it's like you guys borrow magic from this other realm," Draco concluded, sounding fairly pleased with having grasped the concept.

Ryou nodded. "Yes. Which is why it always comes at a cost. Essentially, we are only borrowing the power. We have to repay the Shadow Realm in some way or another."

Draco winced at that, having no way of empathizing with their situation. His magic had always come easily. Their magic was something else entirely.

He much preferred being a wizard, in all honesty. It seemed to be much more life-preserving, all things considered.

"Our magic is also different in the sense that ours is more malevolent in nature." Malik went on. "Ours is designed to destroy and conquer. It's why Pharaohs of the first Shadow Games were so powerful. Our magic is not made to help anything."

"Yours is more neutral," Ryou said.

"As in it can be malevolent or benevolent?" Draco still voiced the question, even though he was already well aware of the nature of his magic. He was really just steering the conversation.

"Yes."

"Wow."

Ryou's smile was barely visible. "'Wow' indeed."

"Why are you telling me this now?" Draco queried. "Wouldn't this have been more useful earlier on?"

"We didn't trust you," Ryou deadpanned, and Draco marvelled at how Ryou could say something that potentially offensive and make it sound like was talking about the weather. "And further, now that you're so tied up in our world, there are some things you're going to need to know."

"There's more," Malik added.

"But not yet, right?" Draco finished, adding a slightly childish eye-roll for effect.

Ryou's lips quirked. "I'm sorry for that. We'll tell you anything that you need to survive. I promise."

There was something in the way that Ryou made his promises that gave Draco the feeling that he'd hold them to his death. Maybe it was the sombre seriousness etched into every part of the boy's expression. Maybe it was that constant innocence that seemed to permeate the very essence of him.

Whatever it was, Draco knew that no matter how hard they found it to trust him, he could trust them.

Well, he could definitely trust Ryou, at least. Bakura may be another story altogether.

Unbeknownst to Draco, Ryou and Malik had been arguing over telling Draco these very things since they'd escaped the mansion. Ryou had emphasized their situation, and the fact that there were some things (though not everything) that Draco needed to know for his own safety and survival. Malik had been opposed. He didn't trust Draco yet. Not the way that he needed to if he was going to spill his magic's secrets.

However, upon many verbal, mind-link, and silent arguments, they had agreed that it was time. They would tell enough for Draco's safety, and if anything else important came up, they would tell him then.

All three of the Shadow Masters were biding their time to have to tell Draco of the villain that plagued their magic. Ryou worried very openly that it was going to serve no more than to put the poor wizard teen onto sensory overload. Besides, they may as well save it for when they find the other children that they needed to end the war.

To kill Voldemort, they needed Harry Potter.

Ryou studied Draco's face, paler than usual. "Draco, are you okay?"

Draco nodded. He'd been silently letting all of the information sink in. For him, this was one of those rare times that Ryou and Malik were open about something to do with themselves. Usually, Draco was an outsider looking in, just trying to keep up with the pair of them, stumbling in darkness.

He truly appreciated these rare moments. It sounded corny, but he truly, truly did. He actually felt like a person, like a person with _friends_.

But he'd never admit something like that aloud. He still had something of an image to maintain.

"Let's not go telling him all of our secrets," Malik complained loudly. "I like to be mysterious."

Ryou and Draco exchanged amused glances at that.

The dark mood sort of lifted, at that point. Ryou stood from the bed and stretched his arms high above his head. Draco fell backwards to stare at the ceiling in thoughtful silence. Malik gingerly laid himself down onto his own bed and closed his eyes, a ghost of a smile on his face.

"To think..." Draco murmured reflectively, loud enough that the others could hear him, but still more to himself than anything. "To think that there was another world of magic that we never knew a thing about."

"Makes you kind of feel like one of your muggles, doesn't it?" Malik's voice cut through the pensive silence.

Draco looked his way, and found himself looking into sharp, violet eyes. Draco's lips curled up into a wistful sort of smirk.

"I suppose it does," he said, but he wasn't really saying it to Malik. It was more to himself.

_I suppose that it does._

"So onto our next problem," Malik said suddenly. "How are we going to find this Harry Potter kid?"

Draco tugged at the sleeve of his shirt, feeling suddenly uncomfortable in the casual clothing. He'd spent most of his life either in robes or a suit. Wearing nothing but a sweater and ripped jeans was a weird experience for him.

His thoughts had to be elsewhere, though. Clothes weren't important in the whole scheme of things.

"I don't know," he answered finally, feeling guilty that he couldn't provide answers.

Ryou pulled out a can of soda from the bag, offering it to Draco. When the blonde shook his head, Ryou shrugged and popped the tab.

This action reminded Malik that he had a box of crackers in his possession, and he opened the box and pulled out a sleeve, tearing into the snack with voracious pleasure. "Can't believe I just left these on the bed for so long."

Draco watched Malik snack with barely concealed disgust. "You'd think that we never feed him."

"Mortal wounds give me an appetite," Malik shot back, putting another cracker in his mouth to prove his point.

Ryou stared down at the swirling drink in the can, dark like some kind of black liquid. His brow creased. Frustration welled up inside of him, dark as his soda.

"I'm going to go for a walk," Ryou said, setting the full drink down onto the desk. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"It's not safe for you to go alone," Draco pointed out, standing also. "I'll come with you."

"No. I'm fine." Ryou's eyes were sharp as razor blades, bleeding almost-red in the dimly lit room.

Malik understood the look in Ryou's eyes on a deeper level than Draco did, and he put his hand out slowly to act as a block from Draco's path. "Let him go, okay?" Malik cast a meaningful look in Ryou's direction.

Ryou nodded. "Thank you."

Draco sighed and sat down. "Just don't do anything stupid, okay?"

Ryou smiled vaguely. "I'll try."

And then he was gone, the door shutting behind him with a soft, ghostly click.

End Chapter

Not a lot happening, I know. Still, I've got a stage to set, and you did see some character development (I hope.)

Okay, to address some things in this chapter:

(1) Shadow Magic. I don't know if this follows the actual canon magic of the show, but this is what I perceived it as. I always found the logistics of their magic particularly vague, so I took liberties.

(2) Characters. I'm sure you've noticed how low-key things are. This chapter takes place fairly quickly after the climax of NSA, and therefore it's kind of like that deterioration from the action (since the story essentially hit the climax in the last few chapters and then left you on a high note). The beginning of this story is the low notes afterwards. I hope this doesn't bore you. It really is important that this happens for the sake of flow.

However! I assure you that action is to come. Much action. Look forward to it!

OoCA


	3. Soundless Footsteps

Okay, so a reviewer brought this up to me (I thought that I'd addressed this before, but I'm guessing that I thought about the answer and actually forgot to let you guys know...)

Why can't Ryou use the Millennium Ring as a tracking device? Well, in the case of the HP gang, I maintain that it can't track things imbued (including wizards themselves) with HP magic. I actually had every intention of mentioning this fact in this and future chapters, so I'm sort of impressed that it came up. (laughs)

Further, think back to the beginning of NSA. Ryou and Bakura couldn't "feel" each other. Bakura couldn't use the Ring to get back to Ryou when they were separated - couldn't use the Ring to _find_ Ryou. The magic was so concentrated that it was impossible. Similarly, this is why it couldn't be used while they were at the castle.

And to finally address why they couldn't find Ryou's father: he was _with_ Voldemort, and therefore they couldn't get past that over-saturated form of magic. I hope this clears things up.

The reason why they didn't bother very often was because I thought that, in chapter two, it had been made sort of clear that certain parts of the Items couldn't function. Why do you think that Malik hasn't successfully mind-controlled anybody? Or even tried?

I'm sorry if people have thought that I'd forgotten these important parts of the Yu-Gi-Oh-verse. I really didn't. This idea was deliberate and constant from the beginning of the "trilogy".

ALSO, I'm sorry that I've taken such an extended hiatus. It was kind of necessary. I'm in my last year of high school, and the classes that I have right now are kind of imperative for University, so I needed my focus to be there. I'm hoping that as my second semester rolls around with less intense classes, my updating schedule will get better. I hope you can all be patient with me. FanFiction doesn't go high on my priorities right now, what with saving money and grades to fret over...

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh or Harry Potter.

Chapter Three

Soundless Footsteps

The small town was still bustling when Ryou stepped out into the crisp, evening air. The sun was only just beginning to set, giving off a deep orange glow across the span of brick and pavement. He inhaled slowly, grasping for his composure, and set off down the street.

It was an unusual feeling, to be both noticed and unnoticed at the same time. Walking down the streets of a British township, he was noticed for his unusual hair colour and style, but no recognition lit up in the eyes of the ones who looked at him. In Japan, people would notice his hair and then recognize him for the duellist that he was. Here, he was an odd stranger, but nothing more.

He liked it better that way. He felt almost safe in the blanket of being a stranger to everyone.

He felt almost safe, but that sensation of fear and dread was always lurking in the wings, waiting to overtake his life in a whirlwind of desperation and struggle.

Things, he mused, had been so much simpler when they were just card games and Shadow Magic and Yugi's friends. He had feared for their safety, feared for them because of Bakura's loathing for the Pharaoh. He had been upset with his father, for leaving him alone all of the time. He had wanted to become friends with Malik, so like him in so many ways.

Magic. Cards. Duels. Somehow, in that realm, things had felt safer. Though his magic was so much more dangerous than that of the wizards, things had felt...safer, somehow. There was always a reset button. Bakura could replace the souls that he stole, whenever he did so. No one was actually, physically harmed. Not often. Most of it was mind games. It had always been that way.

So now, to be in a world where magic was being used in such a violent manner, so much darker and more hateful than the battles he'd been used to, Ryou felt completely isolated in this alien place.

_"We have always had more respect for our magic," _Bakura said, "_as it is living. We only take physical life when there is no other possibility of success."_

_- Or when you are consumed with hatred. - _Ryou pointed out softly, stepping past a small group of children. He kept his head down, but his eyes were following the movement of every person on that street. Years of harbouring a spirit that committed various criminal acts had taught him how to lay low in the right ways.

Bakura's response was wry. _"Yes. But the gods have never smiled upon that kind of thing. I never claimed that I wasn't damned."_

_- You've done some good since, - _Ryou offered in tones of sympathy, thoughts of their time at Hogwarts flashing through.

_"I've done some neutral since. Good isn't really my thing."_

Ryou smiled wanly, burying his hands deep into his pockets. "I know," he murmured aloud.

He walked a few blocks until finally he decided to turn off into a small coffee shop. It was dimly lit and smelled of smoke and pastries. A few groups of people sat at the wooden tables, chatting quietly and laughing amongst themselves.

He approached the counter, where a young woman with dark skin and braided black hair was working.

"How can I help you?" she asked almost absently, not looking up at him immediately when she noticed that he was there. When she finally did look up, her eyes widened in slight surprise before a grin split her face. "Nice hair, by the way."

It sounded genuine enough, so Ryou just mumbled a quick thank you and scanned the chalkboard behind her that had the various options scrawled across in rainbow-coloured letters.

"Just coffee, please," he decided after a moment.

Her fingers pressed a few buttons on her cash register before she glanced up at him again. "Will that be all?" she asked, and when he nodded she smiled and rang up the bill. "That's going to be five pounds, hun'."

Ryou rummaged in his pocket before pulling out the right amount of change. She accepted the money quickly and turned away to make his drink. Ryou watched her quietly.

She seemed so...normal. He was envious of that.

"Foreign?" she asked suddenly. The question startled Ryou, making his head jerk up to level with her. Her eyebrow quirked at his reaction.

"Yes, I am," he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head.

She smiled. "Japan?" she guessed.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"The accent, " she explained.

"Is it that noticeable?"

She laughed good-naturedly, and when she shook her head, her large earrings clinked and jingled with the movement. "No, not really. I have a friend who was born and raised in Japan. Not a hint of British accent in her. I picked up the quirks of it fast."

"Ah," Ryou said, feeling warm at the normal, completely innocent conversation that he was having with someone. He was grateful, even if she wouldn't understand it. "Where in Japan is she from?"

"Tokyo, but I'm not sure what district." She pulled the mug out from under the machine and grinned up at him. "Cream?"

Ryou nodded. "Please," he said.

She bent down to open a mini fridge under the counter and pulled out a blue carton. She stood back up and poured a small amount of the liquid into his cup before returning it into the fridge. "So how are you liking good ol' Britain?"

His smile froze in place involuntarily, but she didn't seemed to notice the stiffness that had suddenly come into his expression. "It's...different," he admitted. Lying felt almost criminal, he thought, to such an innocent stranger. Avoiding the truth was better.

Ryou had always hated lying.

"Definitely is," she agreed. "How much sugar, hun'?"

"One, please."

"No problem," she said, and took a small cube between two fingers and dropped it into his cup. "Prefer mine cubed, myself. Easier to sneak a bite." She winked at him.

Ryou chuckled. "I'm certain it would be."

She put his cup up onto the higher ledge of the counter on his side, patting her hands on her apron. "How long before you head home? I'm guessing that you're a tourist."

"Good guess," Ryou said. He went quiet for a moment, and then answered. "A few weeks. My friends and I are on a road trip through the country."

"Awesome," she said enthusiastically. "I'd stick to the countryside. Lot more spirit around these parts, but good old London is great, too."

With dark humour, Ryou thought to himself that he had already seen much of the "London spirit", something that he definitely did not want to cross paths with again. However, this girl was a perfectly normal, non-magical human. She would never understand that part of "good old London".

"Thank you," Ryou said earnestly, taking the mug and stepping back from the counter. "It's been my pleasure."

"Pleasure's all mine," she answered with a laugh. "Now, go drink your coffee. Made it special for you, you know. Paper's at the front."

Ryou nodded, thanked her again, and walked back up to a corner of the store, right near the window, and sat down in one of the wooden chairs. He set his drink down onto the table, hands pulling at a paper that had been conveniently left there by a previous customer.

He took a spoon from the saucer under the mug and stirred his drink absently, reading a few headlines on the paper. It was mostly normal things, nothing that could be particularly spectacular or telling of any wizards running rampant. With some humour, though, Ryou noted that most normal humans would find some normal way to explain away any kind of abnormal occurrences anyways. He shouldn't have been surprised to find a normal newspaper gave him no leads on the whereabouts of Harry Potter.

Ryou sighed, putting the spoon back onto the saucer and taking a sip of his drink.

_"We need some good leads,"_ Bakura said, materializing in the seat opposite to Ryou's. Ryou smiled slightly but didn't act startled or look around. He knew that no one else could see the Spirit.

_- I'm going to try not to talk aloud to you or everyone will think that I'm crazy. -_

_"So what else is new?"_

_- I almost want to think that you're doing this on purpose. - _

Ryou glanced up discreetly, and Bakura was grinning wickedly. _"Got to get my kicks somehow."_

_- Your 'kicks' indeed. -_ Trying to look un-amused, Ryou brought the drink up to his lips again and started reading something in the paper about a successful charity event.

Bakura put his elbows on the table, resting his chin on interlaced fingers. _"You never used to be this much of a smartass,"_ the Spirit of the Ring said with a predatory grin.

Ryou's lips quirked, but he kept his eyes firmly trained on the paper.

_"Jeez..." _Bakura complained, rolling his eyes, _"now you're just being irritating."_

The young man sighed, setting his drink back down onto the saucer. "I'm sorry," he said very quietly.

"Sorry for what?"

Ryou nearly jumped out of his seat at the sudden voice. Bakura merely tilted his head on his fingers and stared up at the newcomer.

Standing in front of their table was a middle-aged woman with cropped-short brown hair that swung about her chin in one of those styled cuts. Her eyes were brown behind her glasses, a colour that was light and sharp as copper. Faint wrinkle-lines were apparent on her face, but otherwise from the fashion top and black slacks, one would assume her to be an up-and-coming businesswoman.

She smiled, eyes crinkling at the sides. "May I join you?" she queried in a friendly tone.

Ryou gaped for a moment before seeming to remember his manners. He gestured towards the chair that Bakura was "occupying", as she couldn't know he was there. "If you would like," he said.

She smiled coyly and slid a chair from a nearby table over, sitting in the space between Ryou and his Spirit.

Ryou's eyes went wide. Bakura's eyes went sharp.

"T-The seat across from me is empty," Ryou suggested. From the look Bakura cast him, it was probably a bit of an obvious thing to say.

The woman's eyebrows shot up, and Ryou was instantly reminded of the disciplinary gaze of a parent. "You can't see him?"

Ryou's jaw almost hit the floor.

Bakura sat up a little straighter, a subtle reaction to surprise to most, but Ryou knew that that reaction meant that he was nearly _shocked_.

The woman smiled and adjusted her glasses. "I noticed you looking at him. It's not every day that I see any magical folk around here."

"M-Magical folk?" Ryou stuttered, looking the woman up and down in open bafflement.

This woman who looked so normal, so plain and ordinary...how could she be connected to Britain's Otherworld? Shock dug deep into Ryou's stomach, settling like an ache. Had they been so stupid, to have assumed that a wizard would be easy to spot, and had missed opportunities to find what they'd been seeking?

Draco would have known. He had to have. He would have been able to spot a wizard, right? Another of his kind?

Or, another part of him argued, perhaps it wasn't that easy. Perhaps they were experiencing their first moment of luck in this entire massive, endless mess.

She laughed at his expression. "Wizards don't always dress in robes, you realize." She examined her nails. After a moment, she pulled a file out of a front pocket of a satchel she'd slung over the back of her chair and began to file her nails. "As it happens, however,_ I_ am a squib."

Ryou blinked. Squib. It sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't attribute a definition to the word. "A what?"

One of her eyebrows quirked in surprise. "A child with no magical powers born to a family with wizard parents," she clarified, and her expression turned questioning. Then, very suddenly, dawning washed over her face and was quickly replaced by a look of horror. "You're not a wizard."

She hadn't voiced it as a question, regardless of the look on her face. She had been stating it like it was a fact.

"I'm not," Ryou answered, shaking his head.

Her mouth popped open in a silent "o", and her eyes flickered to Bakura again. "So then you really can't...?" she bit her lip in worry, as if she had just said something very incriminating.

_"He can see me," _Bakura said, speaking for the first time since the strange woman's arrival.

The woman let out an audible breath of relief and a laugh of gratitude. "_Well_, I thought I'd just spilled my magical guts all over a _muggle_. Quite the scare you just gave me."

Ryou chuckled nervously, glancing at Bakura for some kind of help. He really didn't know how he was supposed to be reacting to this strange woman that seemed to be connected to the magical world.

Bakura's eyes went sharp, calculating, and cold. It was an expression that Ryou recognized, one that he had been on the receiving end of for so much time, seemingly such a long time ago. He couldn't honestly say that he missed it. It was one of the most intimidating things he'd ever experienced, and  
Bakura was intimidating even if he _wasn't _looking at you.

_"What do you want with...me?" _Bakura asked, very carefully excluding Ryou from the equation. Ryou understood why. He was trying to paint them as separate beings, because even if they looked nearly identical, Bakura could still swing the concept of being a separate, magical entity to a complete stranger. He was trying to put some of the possible danger away from Ryou.

"I don't really want anything. Just saying hello," the woman said to Bakura, even though her eyes were on Ryou. He shifted uncomfortably, and she seemed to take notice. A slow, apologetic smile formed on her face.

"Forgive me for not looking at you directly," she said quietly to Bakura, but Ryou knew that she was explaining to them both, "but I'd rather not be labelled for a loony."

_"Just explain why you decided to approach us."_

"I was really only curious," she explained, eyes trained on Ryou. Russet, he decided. Her eyes were lighter than his. A good thing, part of him thought, because had his eyes been any lighter, at the right angle, one might see the hints of red lurking there, telling of his other half.

Ryou played with his fingers, trying to look as much the average teenager as he could possibly be. It was best to keep the woman's suspicions as low as possible.

"May I ask something?" the woman asked, and it seemed like she was talking to Ryou, so he nodded in response. Her eyes flickered to Bakura briefly, a second of eye contact, to ask him the same question silently.

_"If you must."_

She looked a little uncomfortable for a moment, even a little unsure, before she seemed to gather herself and ask her question. "Why...if you aren't a wizard," she was talking to Ryou, "can you see him?"

_"I was his brother," _Bakura lied smoothly, like silk, to provide with the woman a cover story of his existence. It also explained their physical likeness.

"So you are a ghost," she said, almost like a sigh of relief. It was because, Ryou supposed, she was feeling back in her territory, addressing something that was within her realm of understanding.

Bakura's eyes flickered to Ryou, a quick indication that he would be continuing the lie, that Ryou needed to keep up. _"I was a student at Hogwarts. I died from a Muggle sickness during my summer break before my last year. My brother is a...squib."_

The woman blinked, surprise in her eyes, before she cast Ryou a sympathetic glance. She saw someone just like herself, someone who was born into a world that they could not truly be part of.

Ryou felt almost guilty that he was supplying her with that kind of false emotion. She was misled, because he was nothing like her.

"I'm sorry for playing dumb earlier," Ryou said quietly, trying to look as sheepish as possible, "but I was just being careful about everything."

"As you should be," the woman said with a resolute nod. "It's good that someone so young can understand the value of secrets."

Ryou bit his lip. She didn't even know the half of his ability to "understand the value of secrets".

"All is not lost for us, however," the woman said very suddenly, grinning a pearly grin. "I, for one, happen to be a fortune teller. A real one, not one of those half-loon crackpots that can't tell the difference between a tea leaf and tea cozy."

Bakura shot him a look that distinctly said: 'this woman is insane'.

She leaned forward, a distinct twinkle of excitement in her eye. "How about I read your fortune? No charge, of course, but keep that between us." She winked. "Squib's honour?"

"Um..." Ryou was feeling _very_ nervous, and Bakura couldn't take over without the woman knowing that there was something more to the story they'd told. "Sure."

She laughed at his reaction. "Don't be _shy_, child! I don't bite!"

_"If she did, though, we could count on catching her insanity. It has to be a disease."_

Ryou's eyes widened in shock, but when he glanced at the woman, she acted as if she hadn't heard it.

_Right, _Ryou thought to himself, _our link is private, too. _

But the mere fact that he'd forgotten that, even for a moment, troubled him.

"Okay," Ryou said to her, feeling her gaze and knowing that she was expecting an answer. He really didn't want to be rude to her.

"Wonderful!"

Excitedly, the woman snatched his hand in hers, turning it over so that it was palm-up. She leered down at the lines of the skin, fingers tracing each line with a sort of dazed entrancement. Ryou shivered slightly at the touch, then cleared his throat nervously, but it didn't seem to release her from her self-imposed, spellbound state.

Her eyes flickered up, still cloudy. "What _is_ your name, child?" her voice held a tone of wonder in it, something that only further served to make Ryou feel uncomfortable.

"Um..." he trailed off for a moment, trying to think of something that sounded _British_, "Darius...Finn. Darius Finn."

"Darius," she murmured, and Ryou followed her gaze back down to his palm. Ryou was familiar with fortune telling, of course, being a user of the tarot cards, but this was something unnerving. Ryou had never understood the mystical intrigue of a person's palm.

"Your future," she said after another moment of starry-eyed silence, "is interesting, child. It is filled with unimaginable darkness, although this darkness seems to be more made of _shadows_, than any kind of true evil. However, you will face evil soon, I fear."

Those dimmed eyes went up to his, and he sucked in a breath at how...soulless she appeared. It was like the woman wasn't even there, like she'd disappeared into the recesses of whatever power she was accessing.

Ryou broke eye contact with her, something that she didn't seem to notice, and glanced at his Yami. Bakura was staring, _glaring_ at the woman with his eyes narrowed practically into slits.

He was _listening_. She had caught his interest.

"You will face evil in its most potent form, something which you, an ancient part of you, has faced before. Keep to your _shadows_, dear boy. It'll be your only hope. Your friends," she continued, voice flecked with an odd intonation, "will help you. I cannot tell their futures with them absent, but I assure you, they may fall."

She released his hand very suddenly, as if the very contact with his skin had burned her. Her head snapped up, and suddenly her eyes were clear.

The woman cast him a tired smile. "Was your future promising?"

Ryou watched her, hands shaking as he shoved them into his lap and out of sight. "It was...a quick reading," he whispered, biting his lip and casting a shocked expression at Bakura, who was sitting in stony silence.

At the expressions on their faces, Ryou's upset and Bakura's blank, the woman's smile flickered. "I didn't predict something awful, did I?"

There was a hint of apology in her voice. He could also sense some wariness, some concern and curiosity.

"You don't remember?" Ryou asked somewhat ambiguously, refusing to answer her question directly.

She shook her head. "It's the only magic I have, and it's enough stress on my body that the shock of it blocks my memory. I could give a better one at my shop," she offered, "much more detailed, if you would like."

Ryou shook his head and slowly stood from the table. Forgetting his drink and his newspaper, Ryou offered only a hasty goodbye before racing from the store. The woman was surprised, but did not follow him.

_"Oi," _Bakura demanded, _"what's the scared act all about?"_

"Bad feeling," Ryou murmured aloud, his breath fogging in front of his lips. He glanced back, to make sure that the woman hadn't decided, last minute, to follow.

_"As superstitious as the both of us are,"_ Bakura drawled, an indication of his frustration, _"I think you're reading too much into that woman's claim. Besides, she was affiliated with the wizard world. Couldn't we have pumped her for information?"_

Bakura's words made him stop in his tracks.

They could have found things out from her. They could have gotten somewhere, and Ryou had just dashed that possibility out of cowardice and fear.

_"She owns a shop, doesn't she?"_

Ryou sighed and glanced back at the shop, across the street and a ways away. "We should go in the morning."

_"Do you even know what it's called?" _Bakura queried.

"No, but I'm sure that I could find out, if I wanted to."

_"Manipulating humans?" _Bakura's tone was devilish. _"You _are_ starting to become more like me."_

Ryou's eyes darkened. _- I'm sure that you're right. -_

Bakura caught the tone in Ryou's voice, and sensed the train of his thoughts. The Spirit frowned, brow creasing. _"We don't know yet, Ryou."_

_- I'd call it fairly obvious. - _

_"You know very little about Shadow Magic."_

_- And you know everything about what's happening, yes? - _Ryou demanded, voice going snappy and cold. It was a familiar tone, one that Bakura had often heard coming out of his own mouth, inflections and everything.

It was a surprising enough reaction that Bakura had to pause for a moment to completely process it. Ryou visibly jerked, head snapping down to stare at the ground, hands balling into fists at his sides.

_- Don't you see? - _he asked in a whisper, voice shaking with frustration and fear.

Bakura _did_ see. He had been seeing the infinitesimal changes as time passed, becoming more pronounced after everything began going distinctly downhill. After Ryou's father had been killed, Bakura had noticed his power growing, and Ryou's weakening. It wasn't just moments of attitude, anymore. Bakura had become the dominant personality, and he knew that Ryou's influence on him, too, was slipping.

Some influence on each other was necessary for the bond, their connection, to function. If there was only one influencer, though...

One of them could disappear forever, if they didn't stop it.

Bakura would _not_ let that happen. There was no way.

_- And what if you can't stop it? - _Ryou asked. Bakura didn't respond, only shut their connection and locked the door to his soul room. It would upset Ryou, but Bakura knew that he would only return to their hotel room. He wouldn't fight it or question it too much. Both of them had been moody and secretive, as of late.

He leaned back against the door, staring forward into the recesses of his chamber, of his prison, of the Millennium Ring.

Ryou would not be sacrificed for him. Bakura was selfish, he knew, but he wasn't a fool. He had had his chance at life.

So if it came down to it, Bakura knew what he would do to save Ryou.

In the centre of his chamber, two doors formed. In front of one, a handle began to shimmer into existence.

Yes. If it came down to it, Bakura knew what would be necessary.

End Chapter

So, some stuff was revealed in this chapter. I'm hoping that the desired effect is being built, because this story is a whole hell of a lot darker than its predecessor.

If you have any questions, then just ask in a review. I'll do my best to respond in a response or, if it's a commonly asked question, I will explain before a chapter.

OoCA


	4. Rebirth and Redemption

Well, here it is. Chapter four. It's a big update, so I hope that sort of makes up for the wait. Lots of action, in this chapter. Yay!

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh or Harry Potter. I am simply borrowing them against their will for ransom...I mean for fun. Just for fun.

Chapter Four

Rebirth and Redemption 

"Where are you going?"

Ryou glanced back down the hallway. Draco stood in the doorway to their room, arms crossed and leaning against the threshold. Ryou sighed.

"I'm just going out."

The ambiguity was not lost on Draco, who simply closed their hotel room door and took a few steps towards Ryou, standing opposite to him. "You just 'went out' yesterday."

"I'm going out again," Ryou said stubbornly. His eyes flickered to the door. "How _do _you plan to get back into the room?"

Draco flashed a key that had been hidden in his jean pocket. "I'm not a fool."

"I never implied that you were."

"Well it's plenty implied," Draco snapped, "when you keep dodging the question like this. Do you really think I'll fall for it?"

Ryou's lips twitched. He _had_ hoped that Draco would fall for it. He didn't want him suspicious of him. He was just revisiting the psychic woman. The...what had she called herself? The "squib". Something about their encounter the day before had him curious. He needed to see her again.

If he told Draco, though, he would surely be reamed out for endangering them needlessly. Revisiting someone connected to the Wizarding World was a risky move, one that he really couldn't afford to make. He knew it. Bakura knew it.

"What _did_ you discover yesterday that has you going back?" Draco asked as he leaned against the wall beside the hotel room doorway. He spun the key in his fingers absently, a smugly questioning expression on his face.

Ryou's eyes hardened. "Let me go, Draco. It's fine."

"Look," the blonde said, "I've spent my entire life obeying 'orders' and doing what I've been told. I'm going to be frank and tell you something obvious:" his lips curved up into a wicked smile, "I'm a jackass. I don't _like_ taking orders. Now that I'm free of my father and all of _that_ nonsense, I'm not taking orders anymore. We're equals on this playing field, Ryou."

Ryou put his hands in his pockets, red bleeding into his irises. "It's interesting," he drawled, "that you think yourself so important that we won't dispose of you. You _are_ quite the irritating loose end."

Draco didn't miss a beat.

"Don't try to intimidate me, Bakura, it's not working." The young wizard snorted and pushed away from the wall, standing directly across from Bakura with a pose that bespoke stubbornness. "You can't afford to lose me. I'm all that you have when it comes to the Wizarding world. Do you want to stumble around without knowing what you're dealing with?"

"Trust me," Bakura sneered, "I've managed through worse."

"I'm sure," Draco agreed, and the statement sounded honest. He shoved his hands into his pockets, a picture of patience. Bakura had to marvel, for a minute, at how he had somehow ended up the loose cannon and Draco was the one reigning him in.

"You're having some obvious issues," the blonde wizard said slowly, obviously trying to keep Bakura from exploding. He was treading carefully as if every word was a step in a mine field. It was strange, almost amusing, to see. "I mean, ones that no one but you can deal with. You and Ryou," he amended. "However, I'm sure that we both know that I'm right on this one. You _need_ me with you this time, as much as you don't _want_ me with you. Malik can hold his own, for now."

Bakura blew out a hissing breath from between clenched teeth, but his body still relaxed somewhat in a motion of unusual submission. The kid was right. He hated that it was true, but Bakura had to take his lumps when he needed to.

Since when was he so willing to submit to others?

He worked his jaw silently. Bakura knew exactly what this was a symptom of. His and Ryou's souls and magic were becoming too intertwined. Though some connection was necessary, this was becoming a volatile mixture that would eventually force both personalities to merge. It would destroy both of them. Neither of them wanted this.

Bakura had to stop it from happening. He had to.

He spun on his heel, glaring over his shoulder. "Well," he said snidely, "if you're coming, then hurry the hell up."

He certainly didn't miss the expression of smug triumph on Draco's face as the young man fell into step just behind him.

"So," Draco commented in an off-hand kind of way, "where _are_ we going? You seem to have left that out."

"It's a surprise."

Draco didn't look amused. "Hilarious," the blonde droned, "now tell me the truth."

"Be happy," Bakura said coldly, "that you've gotten this far in your argument. Pushing my buttons any further isn't going to do much more than make you target practice, got it?"

"You're not the easiest person to work with, did you know that?" Draco pursed his lips in frustration. Bakura didn't particularly care.

"It kept me alive for a long time," Bakura said. Draco cleared his throat, but did not make an effort to continue the conversation. Bakura preferred that. He didn't want to talk about his past any more than Draco would want to speak about his own. The past was better left where it belonged: behind him.

Looking back only made him think of all of the reasons why he had so much _hate_, and that served no purpose other than to upset.

_- It's okay, - _Ryou said quietly through their link, _- let's just go. - _

_"Yeah."_

Bakura cast a surreptitious glance to their unwanted guest. No matter how much he wanted to beat the attitude out of their tagalong wizard, Bakura had to admit: the kid had some serious gusto. He rarely had children stand up to him the way that this one did so often.

_- You're warming up to him, - _Ryou commented. There was warmth in his voice.

Bakura snorted. _"Like hell. I think you're deluding yourself."_

Ryou smiled knowingly, but didn't press the subject. Instead, he changed the topic to a more pressing matter. _- What do you think that she will say, this time? -_

_"I don't know."_

It was true; Bakura didn't know. He hated that he didn't know.

_"We'll have to find out when we get there."_

* * *

When he heard retreating footsteps, Malik realized that he'd been left alone in the hotel room. Again.

He was getting sick and tired of being left alone. He wasn't needy, or anything, but it was that sense of being left behind, of being _utterly useless_ that was getting to him. He was getting a little cabin fever, permanently shut away in hotel room after hotel room.

He was starting to get angry over his inability to do anything to _help_. Malik had never been so _helpless_ in his entire life.

Grunting, Malik pushed himself up off of the bed. He shuffled to the nightstand of the other bed, where Ryou had left a novel of some sort. He needed a way to pass the time without brooding. Otherwise, he was going to drive himself nuts.

But as he opened the book and sat back down, Malik knew that he wasn't going to get himself anywhere.

Where the hell _were _those two going, anyways? He hadn't heard all of the conversation, probably not even much of it at all. Malfoy had sounded angry, and Ryou had sounded almost...resigned. Then it'd been Bakura, and he just sounded like every bit the douche he usually was.

He was definitely missing something. When Ryou had gone out the day before, he'd come back to the hotel room looking strange. He'd been quiet the rest of the night and had spent it doubtlessly speaking with Bakura in their mind.

Malik had been tempted to link into the conversation, just to see what was happening, why he was being kept out of the loop. He resisted, though. Malik hadn't tried to use Shadow Magic since he was attacked. He wasn't sure if trying it when he was so injured would be a very good idea.

In fact, he was almost a hundred percent positive that it would be a _bad_ idea.

It'd taken every ounce of his self-control to not _say _anything. Snide remarks wouldn't have budged Ryou an inch. He was dealing with plenty, between his father's death and whatever was going on within his connection with Bakura. Malik causing issues wasn't going to serve much purpose other than to increase stress to the maximum. Malik was a jerk, but he wasn't cruel. Not to his friends.

Other people were totally different territory, but that was another story. Malik hated people.

He was surprised, though, with Draco Malfoy's observance. Malfoy knew that there was something going on with Ryou and Bakura. It was obvious that he didn't know _what_, because he always looked suspicious but never _knowing_. It was also plain that he was going to figure out the logistics of the situation sooner than later, and it was only going to frustrate the wizard when he realized that _there was nothing he could do_.

What was going on with Ryou and Bakura...it was an inadvertent reaction to their entire situation. It was also something completely outside of anyone's realm of control. Ryou and Bakura probably didn't even know how to control it, or even if it was controllable at all.

Malik knew that Bakura was more worried about it than Ryou. Bakura was coming out _dominant_, and this time it was completely against his will. That was a _problem_. There was something wrong, if it was happening without either of their consent. It meant that Ryou's spirit was weakening.

Malik didn't want to think about the implications of Ryou's spirit getting _that weak_.

A wave of nausea hit him, and Malik braced his arms on the bed to steady himself.

_That was weird._

He hated being wounded. Weird things happened to him when he got himself wounded.

"You should not be straining yourself with all of this movement. It will slow your healing, Tomb Keeper."

Malik jerked violently, and he all but _heard _his wound ripping with the movement. He gasped, choking on bile as it rose in his throat. _Damn it, _that had _hurt_. He clenched his fist as the other hand came up to gingerly touch the bandaged wound.

"What the hell," Malik bit out, his voice more of a wheeze than anything, "are you doing here, Shadi?"

The Spirit cocked an eyebrow, vague surprise evident on his otherwise emotionless face. "I did not expect you to know me by voice."

"You've been a wonderfully consistent thorn in my ass," Malik snapped, pushing himself back so that he was leaning, propped up against the wall. "I've been expecting you to show up. You always do, eventually."

"I am becoming predicable," Shadi commented. The complete lack of intonation in his voice always gave Malik the shivers. It was like he was dead inside, a machine spitting out facts but with no actual care for them. Shadi had never been one of Malik's favourite people in the world, for this reason and for a multitude of others, so being alone with him only put him on edge.

"Why are you here?" Malik demanded. He just wanted the guy to give his usual cryptic prediction and _go_. If he just said nothing and left that moment, Malik would be happier.

"I visited with your sister," Shadi said, "and your brother," he amended after a short moment's pause. His empty eyes moved over the length of Malik's body.

"These injuries are far worse than I had first thought them to be," Shadi commented. His lips quirked downwards in a ghost of a frown. He seemed more displeased than anything, which only irritated Malik.

"Sorry to disappoint," he grunted roughly, crossing his arms carefully in front of his chest. The staring was making him self-conscious. Ryou and Draco always made efforts to look anywhere _but_ the wound. To have Shadi so plainly staring _at _it was uncomfortable.

Plus, Malik didn't really want Shadi doing anything but saying what he had to and going. Staring at his wound was just wasting time.

"Why are you here?" Malik repeated roughly. _Go away, go away, go away..._

Shadi fixed him with a piercing stare. "I am sure that you are well aware of why I am here."

"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking," Malik snarled. Shadi was really starting to grate on his nerves. If he was at full capacity, Malik would have kicked him in the face, or something.

Shadi walked a few steps towards the window, brushing the curtains aside to peer at the street before him. "You have both run far deeper than you were ever meant to," Shadi said, "these two worlds, these two kinds of magic, were never meant to intermingle. Coexistence is impossible. I found it time to intervene."

"If our magic and theirs weren't supposed to meet," Malik snapped, eyes following Shadi's every movement, "then why the _hell_ have you waited _this long _to intervene?"

"Free will is something that we often take for granted," Shadi said.

"And?"

"It means," he continued, pulling away from the window and letting the curtain fall back into place, "that I had hoped the situation would sort itself out. Worlds meeting often result in rejection. I had assumed that the two of you would either deal with the wizards quickly or be killed trying."

"Fantastic," Malik muttered darkly, glaring at the emotionless spectre-like man before him.

"No," Shadi said. "There is nothing good about this."

Malik's eyebrow's shot up in an 'oh, really?' gesture. This was not news to him. He didn't need Shadi creeping around and telling him things that he already knew.

"These worlds have mixed in...a very unseemly manner. It is interrupting both their magic and yours." Shadi gave Malik a very deliberate stare, one that Malik figured out immediately.

"Ryou and Bakura..." Malik breathed. So it _was _directly due to this modern magic that they were having issues. Malik had thought that it'd been just the significantly larger amount of magic they were using, but perhaps it went deeper than that. Perhaps it was something in the fundamental saturation of this other magic that was screwing with their Shadow Magic.

It was like being slowly poisoned to death without even realizing it.

"I have come," Shadi continued, "to advise that the three of you immediately eject yourselves from this world. If you return to Japan, it is unlikely that you will be followed. Your sister and...brother have been moved to a secure location in Japan with Seto Kaiba. You can find them there."

Malik felt a breath, one that he hadn't known he'd been holding, whoosh out with relief. They were safe. They were actually safe.

He wanted to go back, now. He really, truly wanted to go back. To just see Ishizu and Rishid, to be able to feel his family so close, was something that he wanted more than anything.

But how was he supposed to do that, now that Ryou had no family to return home to? Could he be so selfish as to force Ryou to leave, to get no vengeance, just so that Malik could have something that Ryou would now never have? He had already lost his mother, his sister...and he had just lost his father.

Malik couldn't imagine losing loved ones like that. His mother had died when he was so young, and he had loathed his father above all else. If his sister had died, if Rishid had died, Ryou would have stayed so that Malik could exact the revenge that he needed.

No. He couldn't be selfish. He had to stay, if for nothing but Ryou's sake.

"Your indecision troubles me," Shadi said, and a strange instant of emotion ghosted across his face. Confusion. Frustration. Not understanding. "You will all die if you stay."

"How do you know that?" Malik demanded.

"It is how the worlds are. You cannot-"

"But how do you know for sure?" Malik interrupted, voice harsh. He already knew the answer. Shadi _didn't_ know. For all of his creepy ghostliness, Shadi was not clairvoyant. He did not know all, he did not see all.

"_Do_ you know for sure?" Malik pressed.

Shadi looked uncomfortable for a moment, frustrated, even. It was hard to tell. His emotions were so minimal, Malik was never sure what exactly was passing over the creep's face.

"I do not," Shadi said finally, his mouth pulled into a thin line. He was obviously not very impressed with Malik fighting against him. Shadi obviously wasn't used to not getting what he wanted.

Malik felt a certain sense of victory, hearing Shadi admit to that. "Well, then. That settles that."

Shadi's lips thinned further. "You are making a grave error."

"Look," Malik snapped, grunting as he pushed himself up into a more comfortable sitting position. "The thing is, Shadi, this isn't about _you_. This isn't about _your_ predictions or _your_ assumptions or what _you _think the world order is. This isn't even about _me_ or _Ryou_ or the bratty seventeen-year-old we're babysitting. This is about everything that Ryou stands for, that I've learned to stand for, that Bakura refuses to admit to standing for. I will _not_ just cower in Japan while some _psychopath_ gets away with having killed so many people."

Shadi, needless to say, looked clearly surprised by Malik's outburst.

"You may think that we're only doing this for vengeance, but we're not. Is that a big part of it? Yes, yes it is. However, I don't think you really have any right to a say in this, no matter _what_ our reasoning." Malik fixed him with a long, hard stare. "And also, this has become a matter of responsibility, for us. When their Overlord of Darkness or _whatever the hell they call him_ is screwing in _our_ magic, I think that it's time for someone to step in and kick his ass. If he resurrects Him, if Zorc comes back, then we're all toast. We need to do something. Even if we need a Pharaoh to do this, even when we don't have one, I'd rather die knowing that I _tried_ than die knowing that I ran with my tail between my legs."

There was silence on the floor. Shadi stared at Malik with disbelief. The only sound was Malik's ragged breathing as he tried to calm himself, tried to stem the throbbing of his wound from getting himself so worked up. Malik didn't back down, though. He didn't crumple from exhaustion or show any budging. He _would not_ budge. He couldn't.

"I was unaware," Shadi said slowly, "that you knew of the plan for Resurrection."

"Ryou's been having some convenient visions, lately." Malik answered, cracking his neck and rubbing his shoulder gently. He was feeling _really_ tense. _No_ idea why.

Shadi didn't look particularly surprised by that. His lips curved into a vague smile. "The child is awakening a latent skill," he mused.

"Wait." Malik said suddenly, something clicking into place in his head. Shadi's eyes trailed back to Malik. "You _knew_ about the...the Zorc thing."

_Damn_, Malik thought, _even saying his name kind of gives me the shivers. _

"Yes," Shadi replied, folding his hands together. His brow creased, as if he were troubled by something.

Malik gestured for the creep to continue. Shadi only began silently surveying the room. Malik bit his tongue and forced himself to stay quiet. Pissing Shadi off wasn't going to get him any answers, especially now that Malik knew that Shadi had some. Much as he hated the guy, he obviously knew some important stuff.

Stuff that _they_ were going to have to know, if they wanted to have any chance of surviving this whole mess.

"I must prepare for any multitude of outcomes," Shadi said after a few moments, "for situations like these. My duty is to protect the Pharaoh, and by extension, protect the magic that he possesses. The Resurrection would be a pertinent risk to that safety."

_No, _Malik thought snidely, _really? You think?_

"It's a risk to just about everything," Malik said. "He'd destroy the world."

Shadi gave Malik a look that quite plainly said 'yeah, I know'. Malik rolled his eyes and looked away from the strange spirit-like man. He didn't need someone like Shadi looking down at him like that.

"So, what?" Malik said, trying to move the conversation along. Shadi had yet to say anything particularly useful. "What does this mean that you're going to do, now that we're not running away with you?"

Shadi gave him a flat look for his poor choice of words. "Now," Shadi said, "we will discuss what _you_ must do to bring the Evil down."

"Us?" Malik sputtered, "what do you mean _us_? Only the Pharaoh, only Yugi's other half can defeat Him!" There was no way. There was absolutely no way. Everything that had been recorded, everything left that told of the First Shadow Games, stated quite clearly that only the Pharaoh could overtake that darkness. He was the _only one_.

Shadi's expression shifted to something strange, something solemn and dark and yet strangely hopeful at the same time. "You cannot know that."

"Oh, really?" Malik sneered. "Then what do we do? Swear at him until he dies?"

"This is not the time for foolish jokes and childish displays," Shadi admonished harshly, "you _must listen_. You have little time left."

Malik settled back down, crossing his arms again. "Okay," he said, staring expectantly at the spectre, "then tell me _how the hell _we're going to, apparently, pull this off."

* * *

It had taken a lot of asking around, and quite a bit of frustration, before they managed to find the squib-woman's shop. The place was small, quite like it'd been just shoved in between two larger buildings as an afterthought. It looked almost a little run-down, too, with paint chipping along the little sign proclaiming 'Magda's Tea and Palm Readings'.

"Well," Draco commented snidely, wrinkling his nose, "this looks simply _promising._"

"Off your high horse, you cheeky little brat," Bakura snapped, hands shoved deep into his pockets in a very forced effort to appear casual. His brows were drawn down in a 'v' of obvious irritation, his lips pulled back into a closed-mouth sneer.

"I'm not _little,_" Malfoy protested somewhat haughtily, crossing his arms.

Bakura's lips curled back over pearly whites. "You're _many centuries_ younger than me, child."

Malfoy just cast him a flat look, not intimidated by the show. "Whatever," he said.

_"This isn't the time," _Ryou murmured with some frustration. Whatever it was that was making Bakura feel that he needed to prove something, Ryou needed him to get over it. They weren't going to get anywhere if they just argued and distrusted each other.

Bakura, frustrated, just relinquished control to his other half and let Ryou do the work. Malfoy watched on as Ryou's face took on a distinct expression of concentration before, after a few moments of obvious struggle, the Ring exploded in light and the switch was done.

"That..." Draco murmured, "...that was much brighter than usual."

Ryou glanced at his comrade. "Yes," he said softly, but he did not offer any more explanation than that.

Then the young male stepped forwards and pulled open the door to the shop. A bell tinkled to signal their entrance. When Draco stepped in, he was hit by two things:

One: the room was very, very dark. Unusually dark. No one should have been running any kind of shop in light like this.

Two: the room smelled like _death_. Draco wrinkled his nose and glanced in Ryou's direction. Could he not smell that? It was utterly putrid. He _had_ to be able to smell that kind of stench.

But there was no indication that Ryou saw anything wrong with anything.

Draco grabbed Ryou's arm. "Something's not right," he said, motioning them back towards the door. "We should go."

"This woman knows something," Ryou argued, "something about me, about Shadow Magic, that she wouldn't unless this gift of hers is real. I know visions when I see them."

Of course, Draco knew, he was talking from experience. Draco had witnessed these such visions, most notably when in that strange dream world, the time when he'd first met Malik's mysterious 'other half', the one that had sacrificed itself so that Malik didn't have to die by Bellatrix's hand.

They had all described this 'Marik' character as a very selfish, somewhat psychopathic creature. Malfoy had gotten a nagging little feeling of 'weird' when he found out that Marik had played the martyr. It didn't really add up.

Selfish people didn't just change instantaneously and go do something noble. That did not happen. It may happen in storybooks, but in real life, selfish people did no such nonsense. Draco knew from experience. He had, after all, spent most of his life being very, very selfish.

Malfoy didn't let go of Ryou. "This is _wrong_, Ryou. Let's _go_," he urged. Ryou ignored his request. Draco growled under his breath in frustration as Ryou shook his arm away and stepped further into the shop.

_This is so wrong. I know that-_

Something in the corner caught his eye. Movement?

"Ah, you came back."

A woman, middle-aged, stepped out from behind one of the draperies. It looked like the curtain hung in front of a hallway, or something. Perhaps a back room? The woman had dark brown hair and eyes that reminded Draco of copper. She was dressed in a modern style, something that Draco had certainly not expected from a palm reader, or a tea leaf reader, or whatever she was. Absently, Draco wondered whether or not she would get along with Professor Trelawney. She wore a warm smile that lit up her features, making her look a little younger, welcoming...friendly, even.

Draco balked a bit, however, when he realized that her sharp, copper eyes were just a smidgen _too_ sharp. The smile just didn't _quite_ reach her eyes. There was calculation, there. Cool calculation. A killer's kind of expression. It was hidden well, though. Very well. _Too_ well.

_Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong..._

"Ryou," Draco murmured, urgency slipping into his tone.

The woman caught it, eyes snapping to his face. He quite nearly jumped back. This woman was making him _very_ nervous. That was something that did not happen often, and when it did, Draco _made practice_ of _listening_ to that instinct.

Draco's eyes snapped back to the curtain. Movement. He could swear that he saw it again, shifting like a shadow somewhere that he just couldn't quite see.

"You said that you could give a better reading, here in your shop," Ryou explained. Draco saw Ryou's eyes flicker to where he had just been looking a moment ago. Could he see movement, too?

The woman made a sweeping gesture to a small table at the centre of the room. "Come, then," she said with an almost-motherly smile, "sit. I'll give the best reading that I can," she winked, "all things considered."

When Ryou approached the table, and Draco moved with him, was the moment that the woman seemed to openly notice his presence. Her mouth popped open in surprise.

"You _do_ keep company with wizards," she commented.

When Draco looked shocked, then confused, Ryou's hand brushed gently across Draco's arm.

_"She thinks that I am a squib, like she is."_

Draco jerked as the foreign thought ghosted across his mind. He had _not_ expected that Ryou would...just enter his mind like that.

Scary. It reminded him of the _Imperius_ curse. Could Ryou, he wondered, take over another person's mind? Could Malik do that?

Ryou's lips twitched. Draco shot him a dirty glare. _Stay the hell out of my mind, Ryou. You and Bakura._

_"Let go of him," _a much harsher voice snapped, _"and the connection will break."_

Draco blinked when he realized that Ryou was still gently, subtly, touching his arm. He recoiled away from the touch, and the whispers of...of that _connection_, or whatever it was, disappeared when they broke contact.

He shivered.

Ryou moved past him and sat down at the table. He laid his hand, palm-up, on the table. The woman's hands moved forwards, snatching his hand in both of hers. She trailed her fingers along his palm, her eyelids fluttering with...visions?

Draco saw it again, out of the corner of his eye. Movement. Some_one_ or some_thing_ was moving. He was sure of it. He couldn't be imagining it. Not after _three times_.

"Your future," the woman said in breathy tones. She inhaled sharply, eyes rolling. "The Shadows move around you, child. They haunt you."

One of the curtains, in a dark corner where Draco could barely see, shifted. It _moved_.

That was it.

Draco stalked forwards, leaned across the table, and ripped Ryou's hand from the woman's. Ryou yelped in protest. The woman's eyes snapped open, eyes on him with a cool stare.

_"What are you doing?"_ Ryou hissed, obviously fed up with Draco's suddenly strange behaviour.

Draco, not in the mood for arguing, wrenched Ryou up out of his chair with all of the power that he could muster. Ryou hissed through his teeth in discomfort. Draco saw red beginning to bleed into his eyes.

Draco turned to the woman, who was just sitting calmly and _staring_. It was disconcerting, to say the least. "What are you playing at?" Draco demanded.

Ryou suddenly went very tense, and Draco saw his eyes slide to another part of the room. He'd obviously just figured out what Draco thought was going on, and apparently agreed with him.

"I..." the woman's expression turned faux-confused. "I'm not sure what you're so upset about, child."

"You're not her, are you?" Ryou asked suddenly. The question obviously surprised her, and she struggled to school her expression fast enough. She failed. They both caught the flickering of surprise, then rage, and then blankness.

"I'd be willing to bet," Ryou said softly, hand on Draco's shoulder as they both took tentative steps back towards the door, "that you killed her. Then you impersonated her, somehow. Took her face."

_Took her face?_

Draco's eyes widened. "Polyjuice potion," he breathed. Ryou's eyes snapped to his face, not seeing whatever realization Draco had just made. "She's taken a Polyjuice potion! You need the person's DNA, like a strand of hair, and you mix it into a potion. You can _physically become_ that person for a short period of time!"

The woman, Magda, stood up. A slow, cruel smile curled onto her face. "Very good, boy," she said. "Excellent deductions, both of you." Her gait changed, from that of an older to a younger woman. She moved gracefully around the table, finger tracing the tablecloth.

"I did kill the crone," she admitted, haughtiness in her voice. "She wasn't much use. What good would the Imperius curse be if I had already killed her? Some people are just frightfully _useless_."

Draco reached for his pocket, where his wand was, when he saw shadows beginning to shape into bodies. People.

Ryou stopped moving them backwards. Draco glanced over his shoulder. Two men behind them. Two men dressed in black, wearing white, skull-like masks...

_Death Eaters_. They had been found by the Dark Lord's _Death Eaters_.

_Damn it._

"Who are you?" Draco demanded, hoping that talking would bide them some time for...for something. Maybe Ryou had a brilliant escape plan.

"Don't worry, Draco Malfoy, dear," the woman said, laughing with Magda's face. "You've never had the pleasure of meeting me. Not since you were a baby, at least."

Draco scowled at the condescending tone. He did _not_ like being talked down to.

"Careful about underestimating me," Draco warned, trying to taunt her into reacting, "I may surprise you."

The woman's smile only grew. "Don't try to goad me, dear. It won't work. There are two of you. There are seven of us. Be good boys, both of you, and submit to the Dark Lord. I doubt he will be forgiving, but at least he may kill you quickly."

"How nice of him," Draco bit out venomously.

The woman made a 'hm' sound in her throat, as if disregarding his behaviour as simply something beneath her. That just made him mad.

Ryou suddenly threw his head back and started laughing, a cold, vicious laugh that even made the Death Eaters pause in surprise. To hear something so evil from someone to appeared to be so docile was a chilling experience.

"What _is_ so funny?" the woman demanded, disconcerted by Ryou's strange reaction.

Ryou's head snapped back down to level, and Bakura grinned a wicked, wicked grin. "I was just thinking," he crooned, voice lilting and deep and _dangerous as hell_, "that it was awfully nice of you to give us a heads up."

Magda's face contorted in scowling confusion. "What?" she demanded.

Pointed teeth flashed in the darkness. "Letting us know how many we have to take out, of course."

Draco took it as a signal and withdrew his wand, pointing it at the woman and shouting: _"Stupefy!" _The spell hit her dead in the chest, blasting her backwards and slamming her against the back wall of the shop.

Bakura had spun around in that very same second, raising his hands and extending them towards the two Death Eaters blocking the door. _"Call of the Haunted,"_ he said softly, voice like velvet.

One of the men screamed as hands, skeletal hands, came up from the floor and grabbed him by the ankles. Moaning ghosts crawled up his body, pulling and ripping their way to the surface. He struggled against them for a moment before they pulled him _through _the floor and into, what Draco could only assume, was Bakura's 'Shadow Realm' place.

The other man stumbled back, prepared to run. Bakura was too fast for him, though, and punched him in the jaw. Hard. Draco heard the crack as the jaw broke.

_"Crucio!"_ One of the wizards shouted.

In one fluid motion, Bakura grabbed the shirt of the man who he'd hit, spinning him around and into the path of the spell. It hit him in an explosion of red. He shrieked in pain and collapsed, effectively out of commission.

_Three down_, Draco counted off.

One of the other men ran at him, but Draco pointed his wand first, _"Imperio!" _Draco shouted, and the man froze stiff. Draco glanced at the other men, the two that had just ran into the room. "Kill them," he commanded.

There wasn't room anymore, it seemed, for getting choked up over killing people. Maybe it worked that way for Potter, maybe he could get away with casting _Expelliarmus _and everything working out, but Draco wasn't in that position. He was fighting a different battle. A dirtier battle.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_ The man cried, killing one of his comrades.

One of the other two Death Eaters caught on quickly and pointed his wand at his friend. _"Avada Kedavra!" _The spell hit Draco's puppet, and the man died instantly.

No allies here, Draco supposed.

It was in that moment that the man realized that he was the last one standing. Panicked, he raised his wand to Draco. Draco raised his. Bakura leapt out of the shadows, grabbing the man around the torso in an attempt to subdue him.

The man shouted out in shock and began fighting. _"Crucio!"_ He yelled. Draco wasn't sure which of the two of them that he was aiming at, but Draco knew one thing for sure: the spell hit _him_. It hit him _hard_.

Draco's world very suddenly exploded in agonizing pain. He vaguely noticed himself crash, face-first, to the floor. Bakura shouted his name, to see if he was okay, but when Draco was unable to answer, he just went back to subduing his hostage.

One well-placed slam against the wall effectively broke the wizard's wand-hand. The man cried out in pain, and Bakura took that moment to slam his head against the wall and knock him unconscious. He then pulled a knife from his person and twirled it in his hands, pointed the blade down, and stabbed the man in the chest. It went right between the ribs. Bakura twisted and pulled it back out, wiping blood onto the man's black cloak.

Bakura took a few steps towards Draco and knelt down by him. "You alive, you annoying little bastard?"

Draco wheezed, turning over onto his stomach. "Shut...the hell..." he choked as he got onto his hands and knees, spitting bile out of his mouth, "..._up_."

Bakura was long gone by the time that Draco managed to bite out his response. He was already across the room, stalking towards the woman who had, assumedly, been the ring leader of the entire incident.

Sometime during the scuffle, whatever 'potion' she had consumed must have worn off. Now, instead of a middle-aged woman, there lay a fairly young one. Her hair was long and dark, lighter than her previous 'colour'. Her eyes were very dark, though. They were nearly black. She glared up at him, still having trouble moving.

"Had a good nap?" Bakura asked good-naturedly.

She slowly managed to work her way up the wall, into a stand. "You killed my _men_."

"Not true," Bakura replied casually, hands in pockets, "one of them is still alive." He indicated, with a jerk of the head, the man whose jaw he had broken. He lay moaning on the ground.

Draco stumbled up into a stand, spitting blood from his mouth where he must've bit his tongue, and pointed his wand at the injured Death Eater. "And he's not pulling anything," he warned.

The woman scowled. "We underestimated you."

Draco snorted. "Told you not to."

She only glared.

"How did the Snake Bastard know where we are?" Bakura asked, hand coming out of his pocket. The woman shrank against the wall when she realized that he was holding the same knife he'd killed her fellow Death Eater with.

"Do _not insult_ _the Dark Lord_," she hissed, but her eyes never left the weapon that Bakura was spinning in his fingers.

Bakura, fed up with being told that precise statement, pushed right against her, knife held just at her throat. "Listen here, and listen well, mortal. You are fighting power that you do not understand. If you were smart, which I am sure you think that you are, you will _do_ as I _say_."

"Will that spare my life?" she asked scathingly, knowing the answer.

"Actually," Draco said, "it could."

Her eyes widened and darted to Draco's face, to Bakura, and then back. "You lie," she whispered.

"We'll just have to see," Bakura said, "but you don't have any good bargaining chips. Tell us what you know, or we kill you."

"You are foolish if you-"

Bakura pressed the knife to her throat, cutting her off. A thin line of blood appeared along her neck, like a tiny necklace. She gasped and strained her head away from him, shutting her eyes.

"Tell me," Bakura murmured in her ear. His voice was seductive, almost. He was like a predator enjoying the hunt.

Draco turned away, focusing on the Death Eater that he was keeping under control. The man lay on the ground with his hands up where Draco could see them, unmoving. Draco couldn't see his face, but he was sure that the man looked positively terrified.

"Will you spare me?" she whispered pleadingly.

"You are in no position to make requests."

When she said nothing, Bakura pressed the knife in again, exactly where it had been before. She cried out in pain. "Fine, fine!" She cried, "I will tell you what you want to know!"

"First things first," Bakura's eyes snapped to the door. "Why have no mortals burst in yet?"

"We cast a spell on the shop," she answered quickly. "So that we could kill you uninterrupted."

"You were never going to take us to the Snake Bastard."

"No. We were ordered to kill on sight."

Bakura scowled. "Have all of your Death Eaters been given that order?"

"Yes."

Bakura said something low in a language that Draco didn't understand. It was fairly easy, though, from the tone of voice, to recognize that he was cursing.

"Now," Bakura said, switching hands and just strangling her, "_how did you know where to find us?"_

"The vampires," the woman gasped around his hand. "We knew because you killed those vampires. They were sent to directly report to us. When they did not report, the Dark Lord sent us as plants. Apparently, the suspicions were correct."

"Apparently," Draco commented sarcastically, but his tone was soft.

"Are there any more?" Bakura asked her, snarling in her face and closing his hand around her throat a little harder.

She choked, trying to speak, but found that she could not. She shook her head. Bakura's grip loosened. "They will send more," she wheezed out, "when we do not report."

"When are you due to report?"

Realizing that she had something, the woman grinned and shut her mouth.

_"When?"_ Bakura shouted, taking his knife and running it along her cheek. "Tell me or die."

"I will tell you nothing more," she spat, suddenly courageous.

Bakura smiled cruelly. "Then you are of no use."

Then he snapped her neck.

Draco winced, looking away, as he heard the soft thump of a lifeless body hitting the floor. Bakura dusted off his hands and walked over to a curtain. He pulled it back.

"There's an exit this way," Bakura said, letting the curtain fall back. He walked over to where Draco was, regarding their last captive with contempt. "Just kill him."

The man tried to cry out a plea, but his unhinged jaw made it impossible to properly form any coherent begging.

_"Avada Kedavra."_ Draco couldn't even muster up energy into it. He just pointed his wand and said the spell. He didn't look away, though. Not this time.

He would not play the coward anymore. Now that he had the courage to kill, something that had failed him as a Death-Eater-in-training, Draco would not run away. He had a reason, now. He had a reason to kill, if he had to.

Bakura knelt down by one of the other bodies, lifting the man's sleeve. "Do they all have this strange marking?"

Draco glanced down. "It's the Dark Mark," he said with some force, clenching his fists.

"Ah."

Bakura went about making sure that all of the Death Eaters were dead. Draco absently found his arm, the one where _they_ had marked him.

He would _never_ use that mark. If Bakura or Malik knew what it was for, they would never trust him. He was sure that they had seen it before, but he was hoping that they hadn't yet made the connection. Because him having the Dark Mark, and him having a wand, made him a very immediate danger to their security.

"Do you have any spells for lighting things on fire?" Bakura asked suddenly.

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Um...yes. Why?"

"We need to get rid of evidence," Bakura said, making a sweeping gesture to the bodies. "Burning is the best idea."

Draco blinked, paused, and then nodded. He really didn't have much to say to that.

"We'll go out that back way," Bakura said, thumbing to the exit behind the curtain. "It'll minimize witnesses. We're leaving anyways."

Draco knew that. He had expected no less, especially now that they knew just _how close_ on their tail the Dark Lord actually was.

Bakura stalked over to the exit. "Okay. Now."

Draco pointed his wand out to the room. _"INCENDIO!"_

They were barely out the door and into an alleyway before the entire shop exploded into wild, all-consuming flames.

* * *

"So you're telling me," Malik said, sceptically confirming all of what Shadi had explained, "that this whole thing is about _rebirth_? It's about repeating what happened thousands of years ago?"

"It is...in a way. It could have happened differently, with different villains instigating the Resurrection," Shadi looked somewhat amused by this. Malik didn't even bother to wonder why, "but things have changed. The players have changed. It has shifted the game onto a new playing field."

His eyebrows shot up for a moment, before realization crashed back down. "Shadi," Malik snarled, "if this is about _rebirth_, it's about _doing everything over_. For that, we're still going to need to find ourselves a Pharaoh."

"Rebirth may not always be about what occurs twice over."

Malik was unconvinced. "Oh, really?"

Shadi stared calmly, his face an ever-perfect mask. "Yes," he said. Finality resounded in his voice.

Malik's eyes narrowed at the spectre before him. "Then if it's not about repeating history, what's it about?"

The emotionless mask shattered as Shadi's lips curled into a smile.

"Redemption."

End Chapter

Well, this chapter's had a lot in it, I like to think. We've seen some action, some plot development. Some character development...

(I absolutely cannot stand Shadi, can anyone tell?) (laughs) Well, I've always found him to be a bit of a meddlesome...well, douche bag.

Anywhoo, this chapter's got some real juicy stuff in it. I'm hoping to follow up as quickly as I can! Don't fret between long waits. Remember: I will NEVER give up on this fic. No way.

Love,

OoCA


	5. The Bell Tolls Thrice

I know that updates have been slow. I really am trying to get this done as fast as I can, but I'm begging you guys to be patient. I've gotten this one out a little faster, so I hope that this is an acceptable indication of a better updating schedule in the future.

On another note, I'm working on an original novel (second to this fic, actually. I'm not going to work too hard on it until I finish this story and TC). I'm praying that I'll get published eventually. Totally a life goal, but I've got a lot of learning to do before I get to that point.

But hey, that's what is for!

Chapter Five

The Bell Tolls Thrice

_"Redemption."_

An explosion, coming from somewhere at the entrance to the hotel, suddenly rocked the entire room. Malik forced himself up, stumbling to the door. He peered through the hole. No one.

"Shadi," Malik shouted, spinning around, "what's going-"

But when he turned, the room was empty. Shadi had vanished.

Malik cursed and made for the bed, pulling his suitcase up. He was suddenly very glad that they had all kept their stuff in their bags. He pulled Draco and Ryou's onto the bed, too. With some worry, Malik drew his Millennium Rod out of his pocket and pointed it at the door.

Now, all he could do was wait.

...Which wasn't a big deal, because he didn't wait long. Bakura kicked the door down almost a moment after Malik had raised the Rod. The white-haired spirit took a short double-take at Malik, standing there battle-ready, before turning his gaze to the bags. An expression of frustrated fury swept over his features.

"Wench lied to us," he snarled, making for his bag and pulling it over his shoulder. "She told us that there were only seven of them, the ones at the shop. There were a few more on damage control outside."

"What?" Malik demanded, putting his Rod back into his pocket. In what shop? What the hell was going on?

From the near-panicked expression on Bakura's face, a rarity for the ancient thief, Malik wasn't going to be getting answers for awhile.

Draco appeared in the doorway just then. "We have to _go_," he said emphatically. Bakura, in retaliation, threw his bag at him. Draco caught it with an "oomph" as it hit him in the chest. He glowered at Bakura, but otherwise said nothing.

"Sorry about the short notice," Bakura commented sarcastically, also wrenching Malik's bag off of the bed and throwing it, too, around his shoulder.

Malik scowled at the help. He wasn't too crippled to be incapable of carrying a _bag_. "I'm guessing you two got into trouble."

"_He_ did. I was the third party that got forced into the situation," Draco said in the brattiest tone he could manage. Bakura and Malik came out of the room and Draco shut the door behind them.

"You were the one who insisted on following me," Bakura shot over his shoulder.

Draco was about to make a snappy comeback, because he wasn't about to let Bakura _win_, but he was cut off.

"The fire exit!" Bakura called, just before he made a mad dash towards the door at the end of the hallway.

Draco rolled his eyes and jogged in step with Malik, who looked like every movement was agony. The wizard winced in sympathy. He didn't know how Malik managed with that kind of pain.

Footsteps rounded the corner behind them. Draco didn't have time to stop or pull his wand out. _Damn it, _he cursed.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

Draco saw Malik's eyes widen with an emotion that he'd never seen in them before: fear. Draco didn't blame him. After going through something like that...well, he wasn't going to let it happen a second time.

So, against his saner judgment, Draco tackled their injured comrade to the ground. Both of them hit the deck...they hit the deck _hard_. The spell whizzed through empty air, right through the place where they had just been standing.

Malik gasped in agony, rolling over onto his back and wheezing. His eyes were bugged out his skull, arms wrapped around his middle. Draco winced and pushed himself up, fumbling in his pocket for his wand.

This just was not turning out to be a good day.

Bakura, who had just managed to fully comprehend all that had happened in the last five seconds, snarled and spun on his heel. "Is that the only damn spell that you bastards _know?" _he roared, thrusting his arms out towards them.

His Earl of Demise came flying out from the Shadows that Bakura summoned. The creature screamed and careened towards the Death Eaters. Draco saw one of them stumble back and fall to the floor in shock.

Malik managed to get up onto his hands and knees, gasping for breath through the white-hot haze of pain. Draco grabbed him under the arms and helped pull him to his feet.

Malik cast Draco a glare with very mixed emotions. "Thanks," he said lowly, "but that _hurt_ like _hell_."

"You're welcome."

Malik pulled his Millennium Rod out. "Let's do this. Snake-Bastard's not around to screw with my magic-"

Bakura put a firm had on Malik's shoulder. "You can't fight." Both of their eyes flickered to the two Death Eaters just as the Earl of Demise let out a wail and attacked.

"Why not?" Malik demanded.

"Because you're _hurt_, Malik!" Bakura snarled. "Because you can't even take a tackle without being crippled with _pain_."

Malik snarled right back at him, tightening his grip on the Item. "Well, if I can't control them, I'm going to just _brain_ the bastards."

"No," Bakura said, hand pushing Malik forward, towards the fire exit. "Let's pick our battles. We have to get out of here."

Malik wanted to argue, but Bakura and Draco were already forcing him through the door and down the stairs. All of them heard another spell shouted in their direction, but it ricocheted off of the closed door. The Earl let out a scream, and then all was silent.

Bakura glanced up as they rounded the staircase. "This is _not_ a fire exit," he muttered, ripping the doorway open.

"No," Malik huffed, out of breath already, "because it's the _basement, _obviously_._"

Draco rushed forwards into the room. "There's got to be another way out." He looked around. There was another door to their right. "There!"

Bakura moved first, going to the door and opening it. On the other side of the wooden door was a half-ruined "employees only" sign.

Draco sighed in relief. Perhaps their day was looking a bit brighter. This was a lucky break.

"Come on," Bakura said, gesturing for them to follow him. Draco jerked his head to the door, indicating that Malik go first. Malik nodded, arm still over his wound, and ran for it. Draco heard footsteps clomping down the stair well they had just come out of.

He had barely closed the door behind him when he heard the other door explode open.

They raced up and out through the lobby. People who had been running and hiding stopped and stared at them as they booked it out of the hotel. The look of complete and utter bewilderment on the young concierge's face, who had been hiding by his desk, was kind of priceless.

"Where'd you park our stolen car?" Malik demanded as they broke onto the street. He didn't get much more said, because Bakura grabbed him by the arm and began hauling him down the sidewalk.

Draco ran up beside them, pumping his legs as fast as he could. It was ridiculous. Draco Malfoy was _not_ a runner. "There's an alley just up there," he called, "that's _got _to lead to the parking lot!"

There was a flash of light, quick enough that you'd have to be looking to notice it, and Ryou was suddenly leading the race. Draco quirked an eyebrow, curious about the timing. He opted not to ask about it. The sweat on Ryou's brow...the expression of pain that ghosted across his face every few seconds...

...There was something _very_ wrong with Ryou.

The three of them rounded the corner, coming into the long parking lot that served the entire commercial street. Across the lot, Draco spotted their stolen van. Ryou was already headed in that direction and had, at some point, taken Malik's arm and put it around his shoulder as opposed to just tugging it off. Draco was barely keeping up. He was a _wizard_. Barring the fact that Draco Malfoy didn't run in the first place, _wizards_ did not _run_. That was what broomsticks were for.

Draco chanced a furtive glance back. The Death Eaters were trying to play it cool. They may hate muggles, but Draco knew that they weren't going to stir up a scene when there were so few of them.

When they got to the car, Ryou wrenched the driver door open. Malik made for the seat, though, and both of them stopped.

"What are you doing?" Ryou demanded, voice harsh due to breathlessness. Draco had to double-take to make sure that it wasn't Bakura talking.

"What are _you_ doing?" Malik shot back. "You don't have the driving experience to pull off a high speed chase!"

"_You're _injured!"

"Are both of you _off _your_ trolleys_?" Draco shouted, shoving himself between them. "We don't have _time_ for this!"

Ryou and Malik both stopped, staring at him in identical expressions of surprise.

"Now," Draco said in menacingly even tones, "which one of you is going to get us the _bloody hell _out of here the fastest?"

No more words were needed. Malik swung himself, though somewhat gingerly, up into the driver's seat. Ryou slammed the door shut from the outside and stormed around to the passenger's seat. Draco hopped up into the backseat, closing his own door.

He clicked his seatbelt into place. If this was going to be as "high speed" as Malik had implied, he was going to make sure that he was at least somewhat safe.

Ryou tossed Malik the keys before putting on his own seatbelt. Malik caught them and jammed them into the ignition.

"Glad you stole the keys, too," Malik grunted.

"Got lucky with a car left on," Ryou answered promptly, his tone of voice subdued.

Malik nodded. Then, without any further warning, he floored the gas and the car careened out of the parking lot and onto the street. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw a few Death Eaters looking around for some sign of them. He also saw them catch a glimpse of the car and shout, pointing in their direction. The speed they were going was, obviously, anything but subtle.

Draco sunk down into his seat. This was _not_ going to be a very good ride.

"Here's the plan," Malik said as he dodged around other cars and various pedestrians, "we get the hell out of this town. Next town we run into, we steal and hotwire another car."

"Hotwire...?" Draco queried, unfamiliar with the phrase.

"Stealing a car without needing to use the keys," Ryou informed him. There was still an undertone of frustration in his voice. He was obviously still ticked off about not getting his way.

"Sounds difficult," Draco commented, eyes finding the scenery as they sped by it. The car broke out off of the main street, out into countryside. Malik veered right, onto a dirt, farm road leading around and back to town.

Ryou's lips twitched. "It is. But we have the most practiced thief in history on our side."

No doubt that Bakura was preening from that compliment.

Draco glanced out the window again. "Where _are_ we going? This heads back to the back streets of the town we were _just in_."

"I know," Malik said. "We're going to head back the way that we came. They won't think that we'll double-back. They'll expect us to keep going straight, to try and lose them."

"You think they're that stupid?" Draco guffawed. He was underestimating the Dark Lord's forces if he thought that they were imbeciles.

Malik snorted. "I'm not going to go around underestimating anyone," he snapped, as if answering Draco's thoughts. "But when people are frantic, they often do the most obvious thing. They'll be counting on the fact that they caught us off-guard. They're probably going to also assume that we'll be too focused on escaping to do anything clever."

Draco's mouth popped open in surprise.

"...Where the hell do the two of you find the time to think up things this _twisted_?" Draco demanded.

Malik and Ryou exchanged knowing, wry grins.

"We've been on the bad guy team longer than the good guy one," Malik answered evenly.

"We know how to think like they do," Ryou said at the same time, giving Draco a disturbingly toothy grin. It probably wasn't meant to look as menacing as it did, but Draco had been around Bakura for so long that he often found Ryou equally as intimidating.

He knew what Ryou was capable of. He had _seen_ Ryou lose it, back in his mansion. It was frightening, the look on his face...the murder in his eyes. That same ferocity was constantly lurking in the depths of his gaze, every moment since his father had been murdered by the Dark Lord. It could be passed off as an impression of Bakura's presence, but Draco knew that it went deeper. It had to. That time...when Ryou freaked out...

...there had been no Bakura in that moment. It had been Ryou, all of him. It had been Ryou with all of his hatred, his anger, his pain and oppression and strength unleashed to its full capacity.

It didn't matter that Ryou was the "light" to Bakura's "dark" of their connected soul-thing. They had fed him a line about "reincarnation" when they had first met, but Draco knew that it was something else.

There was something much more sinister, going on. There was something sinister about their magic.

Draco had always had the feeling that them coming into his world, entering the world of witchcraft and wizardry, had somehow changed the course of their story. He felt just as strongly that they had done so for his.

Because Draco knew that he would have never stood against his father, against everything that he had always known, had they not nudged him towards that decision. They were responsible for the change that Draco had undergone.

He was loathe to admit it, but he would be forever indebted to them, for that. How could he ever repay them giving him, even if they hadn't realized it, that taste of freedom that he'd never had before?

He couldn't. Draco knew that. It was why he was still with them, risking his neck when he could go into hiding, be safe, and wait out the war. He could wait for Harry Potter to swoop in and save the day like the irritating glory hound that he was.

But he wouldn't. Not this time.

Potter could have his limelight. Draco was going to do something better: he was going to end the war. Somehow.

Bollocks.

He was turning into a "good guy".

"Thinking hard?"

Draco blinked his gaze away from the back road of the city as they flew by it. His eyes found Ryou's knowing grin.

"The hell do you want?" Draco demanded sulkily. Ryou looked a bit surprised as the stand-offish tone, but took it in stride. Apparently, _his_ bad mood was gone.

Ryou shrugged at him. "I was just curious. You looked lost in thought."

"I do _think_ occasionally, if that's at all surprising."

Ryou's lips twitched, but he didn't respond. It was then that Draco noticed that Ryou was actually _scanning_ the entire area around them. He hadn't been looking at Draco; he had just seen him while doing a quick scan.

...Did the guy ever stop worrying about the worst-case scenario?

Draco smiled humourlessly. Given the crap hand that the guy had been dealt, Draco figured that the answer was probably "no". From what little of Ryou's luck that Draco had seen, he didn't have much reason for optimism.

"Where did an Ancient Greek thief learn to hotwire cars, anyways? Cars didn't _exist_ back then."

Both Ryou and Malik paused for a moment, staring at each other in surprise. Malik burst out laughing a moment later. Ryou looked a tad green, but otherwise seemed somewhat amused.

"Ancient _Egypt_," Ryou corrected Draco, ignoring Malik's hysterics. "I do believe you meant to say 'Egypt'."

Draco went a little pink with embarrassment. "Same thing," he mumbled, though he knew enough about muggle history to know that Greece and Egypt were very different places. He had to save face, though. Draco Malfoy didn't get embarrassed by other people. He _caused_ humiliation. He didn't experience it.

"I thought that you knew," Ryou said, trying to soothe Draco's stinging ego. "I assumed that you knew because Malik," he indicated their comrade, "is Egyptian."

"I knew _that_," Draco said.

Wait. Ancient Egypt...they had that strange form of picture writing, didn't they? He remembered briefly touching on them in Ancient Runes class. What were they called?

"Does that explain those hieroglyphs on Malik's back?" Draco queried, feeling a tad proud of himself for having remembered the term. "Modern Egypt doesn't use those anymore, I don't think."

Malik went very quiet in the same moment that Ryou went very still. Draco caught Ryou casting a surreptitious, somewhat nervous look in Malik's direction. Malik's hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white.

"I just thought that the tattoo would look cooler with hieroglyphs," Malik lied smoothly. He faced directly ahead. He didn't so much as glance back in Draco's direction.

"You're hiding something," Draco pointed out. It was plain as day. He wasn't stupid, and he wasn't going to pretend that Malik's pathetic attempt at a cover-up was going to work on him.

Ryou met Draco's eyes.

"I get it," Draco continued, resting his elbow against the side of the car and propping his cheek against the heel of his hand. "It's not something you want to share. I don't care about it. I was just making a point of fact."

The tension in Ryou's body seemed to drain right out, relief and gratitude obvious on his face. Malik didn't seem to relax, though. He still looked upset, as if Draco's comment had dredged up some bad memories.

Draco almost felt bad. Almost.

"I have a question," Malik said suddenly, surprising both Draco and Ryou.

"For who?" Draco queried, probably a little snidely, considering the look that Ryou shot him.

"You."

Draco cocked an eyebrow in interest. "What is it?"

"You wizards have your own weird society, right?" Draco felt a tad offended at the reference of them being 'weird', but he let it go. "So what's your government doing, right now?"

"Our...government?" Draco blinked.

"Yeah."

Draco shrugged, a wry smile twisting onto his features. "We have a government called the Ministry of Magic. Our last minister was...just killed recently." He stared hard at the scenery, the countryside that had appeared to take the place of the town that had almost killed them. He hadn't noticed when they'd driven back out of the town. "Don't expect them to help us. The Ministry is utterly corrupted with _His_ agents. Death Eaters make up most of it, now. The last remaining rebel force is the Order of the Phoenix, the group that's been protecting Harry Potter."

"And what of the student group?" Ryou cut in.

"What, the DA?" Draco asked with a derisive snort. "That's all they are: a student group. They can't do much of anything outside of the school. Pranks, small protests...they can't manage anything large scale or even remotely helpful. I don't see the point of it at all. They're just wasting time."

"They're standing up for something that they believe in," Ryou murmured softly.

"It's lunacy," Draco said firmly. He had never seen the point of the DA. Perhaps it was that lack of understanding that had led him to so deliberately work against it in his fifth year at Hogwarts.

He had wasted his own time trying to bring down a waste of _their_ time. There was something disturbingly, sickeningly poetic about the whole thing.

Draco glanced out the back window of the car. The small town had completely disappeared behind the expanse of countryside.

"I can't believe that we lost them," he breathed. The Death Eaters were known for their cunning. To escape them so easily was a bewildering thing to accept.

"They're not used to going after people who can think like them," Malik answered him, even though he hadn't asked any questions. "They're used to chasing people who are 'good guys', righteous and all that. They're definitely having trouble adjusting to people who aren't afraid of killing them."

"I don't think the Death Eaters have ever really had that," Draco said, surprise washing over him. It was true. Every opposition that the Death Eaters had ever faced had been forgiving...reluctant to kill. It made sense that they were having difficulty adapting to an enemy that would just as soon slit their throats before considering accepting any apologies. It made a lot of their trickery tactics useless.

Draco sneered out the window. "Just as well," he muttered darkly.

It was just as well.

* * *

Yami stormed into Kaiba's office with all the flourish that bespoke his royal origins. He stomped up to the desk, slamming both hands down on the surface, and glared ferociously at the man impassively sitting opposite to him.

"What is the meaning of this?" Yami rumbled, promises of violence sparking across his voice.

Kaiba levelled a calm gaze at him, lacing his fingers together. "Of what, Muto?"

Yami waved the papers in his hand with disgust. "This...this declaration! You have made it such that I cannot investigate the matters overseas!"

"Ishizu Ishtar stated quite clearly to me," Kaiba answered through his teeth, "that you are not to interfere. Aren't _Pharaohs_ supposed to sit back, look pretty, and let their subjects do all the work?"

Yami appeared taken aback by the venomous statement. He was at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing in shocked silence. His face turned red and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't you _dare_ mock me, Kaiba. This is no time for-"

"This is no time for _your meddling_, Yugi," Kaiba snapped, surprising his visitor by leaping to his feet to glower at a more intimidating height. "I am _aware _that there is a potentially dangerous situation, if Ishizu is telling the truth, brewing in _England_, of all places." His voice rose with his temper, eyes going colder by the second, " I am doing all that I can to ensure Ishizu and her family's safety. However, I am currently unable to secure Ryou Bakura_ or _Malik Ishtar's whereabouts, therefore I have hit a veritable roadblock."

Yami was quiet for a moment. Kaiba turned around, stalking to the office window overlooking Domino City. The corporation head clasped his hands behind his back stiffly.

"If you are doing all that you can," Yami said after a few moments, "then why am I being held back? You have done the same thing with Anzu, Jonouchi, Honda, Otogi...none of us can do _anything_ to-"

"If Ishizu's babbling is correct," Kaiba replied, head snapping to the side so that he could glare at Yami with one eye, "then there isn't much that you _can_ do, Yugi."

"Her...babbling...?" Yami's brow knit in confusion.

Kaiba looked frustrated for a moment before turning on his heel and stalking back to his desk. He wrenched a drawer open and retrieved a small fold of yellowing paper. "Read for yourself. She's making claims just as nuts as the stuff she was spouting during Battle City."

"Which is concerning," Yami shot back, strained amusement tugging at his lips, "for we both know that much of what Ishizu spoke of at Battle City was truth."

Kaiba's lips thinned, but he otherwise did not reply. He always raised a barrier when it came to admitting the extraordinary. Kaiba was a grounded person. He saw no reason in fantasies or magic.

Yami knew that, so he would not press further.

He accepted the sheets of paper with a curt nod, unfolding them gently. His eyes scanned over the first few lines.

Yugi's voice, permeating their connection, murmured the tales Ishizu spoke of with growing horror.

"This is..." Yami trailed off as he skimmed the remainder of the handwritten letter. He didn't know what to make of it. Danger. Magic. Resurrections. An evil plot of a modern-day magician who was after the secrets of Shadow Magic.

"Probably nonsense," Kaiba snapped, rounding the desk and snatching the papers from Yami's hands. He re-folded them and tucked them in his coat pocket, crossing his arms.

Yami swallowed. "This does not bode well," he said thinly.

If he had been angry when he had entered, he was without words now.

Kaiba sat back down at his desk, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap. "So, almighty _Pharaoh_, what more do you ask of me?"

Yami shot him a warning glance, but otherwise let the comment slide. "They cannot do this alone."

"They'll have to, Yugi," Kaiba said firmly. "You won't be of any help by biting off more than you can chew."

Yami clamped his jaw shut, glaring off to the side. As much as he hated it, as much as his pride refused to admit it openly, Kaiba was right. If what Ishizu said was true, Yami knew nothing of this other magic. He would be running in blind.

Would he be able to help, in a situation like that? Or would he be a hindrance?

Yami stood his ground. "The moment," he said, "that you hear of _any _way that I can help them, you _will _tell me."

"I'll ensure that you're notified," Kaiba replied a little dryly.

Yami nodded tersely, spun on his heel, and stormed right back out the way that he had come.

* * *

Draco was jerked awake by the engine suddenly stopping. He jumped up, ramrod straight, and glanced around in foggy confusion.

The car door on his side was wrenched open, bright afternoon light spilling right into his face. He squinted, bringing up a hand to block the sudden intrusion.

"Wake up, sleeping beauty," Malik greeted with a Cheshire Cat grin.

Draco glared at him groggily, pulling off his seatbelt and stumbling out of the car. "So what's going on?" he asked tiredly, glaring around at their surroundings. They were in a large, commercial parking lot filled with cars.

"We're jacking our new car," Malik replied. "Take your pick." That said, he pulled a bag from his shoulder and tossed it to Draco. Draco caught it against his chest. It was the bag full of his things. Sighing, he slung the strap over his shoulder and followed Malik across the lot.

Ryou was waiting in the far corner of the lot, beside an older-looking car that looked abandoned. Draco stared at it sceptically.

"That's our car?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Beggars can't be choosers," Ryou answered with a shrug. "It'll be less likely to be reported. It's been in the lot for a few days. It's likely from one of the houses across the street. They probably park their family car here."

"Great," Draco mumbled, "we're stealing from a cute little family of four."

Malik rolled his eyes. "Curb the sarcasm."

Ryou rapped his fist against the window of the car. "We need to find some long, thin wire...like a coat hanger. I'll be able to jam the lock with that."

"I'll save the trouble," Draco said, stepping forward and pulling his wand from his pocket. He levelled it to the car door. _"Alohomora."_

The lock popped up with an audible click. Malik whistled in appreciation. Ryou just smiled, pleased.

"Good job," the white-haired teen said, pulling the door open and situating himself in the driver's seat. He fumbled in his pockets for a moment before starting to do something around the steering wheel that Draco couldn't really see.

Draco leaned against the side of the car, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. He didn't really care too much about how Ryou planned to "hotwire" the car.

"If Bakura's the thief," Draco said, shoving his hands into his pockets, "then why are _you_ doing the work?"

"Because _I'm _doing it," Bakura snapped heatedly. He glared at Draco from around the door frame of the front seat.

Malik oriented himself comfortably beside Draco. His Millennium Thing was in his hand, the Rod or something, and he was spinning it casually.

"Can't you control minds with that, or something?" Draco asked, eyes following the golden object's movement. It sparkled in the light.

Malik stopped spinning it, turning it to face himself and staring into the single eye at the top of the rod. "Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, I can."

"So...why don't you?"

"Why do you prefer not to cast that creepy killing curse of yours?"

...Oh.

Draco looked away, opting not to press the subject any further.

His hand absently wound its way to his left forearm, stroking the skin beneath his shirt. His brow creased. He could feel the burn. The request for summoning was always there. It was universal. All of those who had been branded felt it.

Draco would not be summoned, though. Just because he was branded didn't mean that he could be tracked.

But a treacherous part of his mind always knew that, if he chose, he could press his wand to the ink on his skin and-

He shook his head. No. Never. He dropped his arm, refusing to acknowledge the thing that had been fused to him.

Malik looked about to start another conversation hen there was the sudden sound of a revving engine. Bakura swung his legs out of the car, standing up and dusting off his hands, appearing to be rather pleased with himself. He then stretched his arms skyward, waiting for the satisfying pop that released the tension in his back and neck.

"It's all yours, Malik," the spirit said, indicating the car with a wave of the hand. "Ryou says to skip to the other end of town and get food."

"Yeah," Malik agreed, sitting down into the driver's seat and pulling the door shut.

Bakura studied Draco for a second. Draco could swear that Bakura looked at his left arm, even if only for a second. Terror washed over him, but Bakura didn't look concerned about anything. Was he just driving himself to paranoia? He was probably imagining it.

"Get in the damn car," Bakura snapped, rounding the vehicle and getting into the passenger seat.

Draco, feeling a tad sick from Bakura's stare, just got in without a word.

End Chapter

According to FFnet, you spell Yugi's surname as "Muto" with a little accent over the "o". I can't get the accent with this particular keyboard, but that seems to be the correct spelling. So there.

(laughs)

Well, we got to see a little bit of Yami in this chapter. Some Kaiba, too! I had a particular reviewer requesting some Kaiba action, so I decided to throw that in there. Kaiba's one of my favourite characters, but I just didn't see any way of giving him a major role in a story like this. I do, however, think that I could write a Kaiba fic sometime in the future. Maybe. Once I finish this thing.

So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Ugly? Drop a review on your way out and let me know!

OoCA


	6. The Angry and the Desperate

Well, here's chapter six. And please, when reading this story from here on in: some things happen similarly to that of the original HP 7 novel, only in different ways or at different times. They have now started to really change the course of the Wizarding World, and it's going to become rather apparent very soon. That is all.

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, Harry Potter, or the title of this chapter. The title is a lyric from "Prayer of the Refugee" by Rise Against.

Chapter Six

The Angry and the Desperate

Neville Longbottom was desperate. There was no other way to describe how he was frantically pacing the Room of Requirement, hands clenched behind his back, brow drawn down so far that he was giving himself a headache, feeling completely at a loss. Actually, he wasn't "at a loss", he was just "lost". He was completely and utterly lost.

"Neville," Ginny said softly, wringing her hands from her spot on the couch, "it may be nothing." It was clear that his behaviour was making her nervous. Ginny hated when people were troubled and she couldn't do anything to help it. That was just how she was.

There was silence. Then:

"_Neville._"

Neville paused in his pacing, turning slowly towards Ginny with a look of disbelief. "_Nothing, _Ginny, really?" he repeated. "Luna's been missing for _days_. That's not _nothing_."

"Okay, maybe not," she admitted, chewing her lip in concern. "But..." she trailed off, now playing with the hem of her shirt, "but we're not helping anything by losing our marbles."

Ever the optimist, Ginny was, but Neville wasn't about to bite. He had lost his sense of optimism quite some time ago.

"What if she's _dead_, Ginny?" Neville all but shouted, fisting his hands in his hair. He must've looked like a total lunatic. Part of him felt badly for Ginny having to deal with him when he was acting so oddly, but most of him didn't care. Most of him was focused on a wispy, blonde friend of his who just so happened to be missing.

Ginny stood up, appearing to be unsure of whether she wanted to approach him or not. She blew out a sigh and ran a hand through her long, red hair. Upon second glance, Neville realized that Ginny looked..._tired_. She wasn't standing up straight and there were bags under her eyes. Even her voice carried hints of exhaustion on the tail of every word.

"Are _you_ okay?" Neville asked, dropping his hands and clasping them behind his back. Ginny looked at him, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment and her eyes going guilty. She'd been trying to hide it. Guilt washed over him. Why had it taken him so long to notice?

Ginny sighed again and just settled for tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'm fine," she answered. Neville had a hard time believing it. Ginny smiled at him, though, and he almost wanted to accept that she was telling the truth. Ginny had the most contagious smile. It was no wonder that Harry cared so much about her. She would just look at you and you wanted to protect her, because she embodied a certain kind of compassion that was so rarely found in a person.

She must have noticed the way that he was looking at her, scepticism written all over his face, because she visibly deflated. "I haven't been sleeping much. Night terrors, that's all."

Neville tugged at a loose string on his vest. She obviously hadn't wanted to bring that up. "I'm sorry," he said.

There was a short silence between them as Ginny stared at Neville, surprise written across her face. The room shifted colour as tension washed away, a comfortable red chair appearing just behind Neville. Grateful and not a little embarrassed, he fell back into it.

Finally, _finally_, Ginny found her voice. "Sorry for what?" she queried, laughter in her eyes.

He blew out an embarrassed sigh. "Being a total loon."

Her grin turned wry and she walked over to the bookcase, passing over the titles. She tapped her chin, as if deciding what novel she wanted. "I think we've all been a bit guilty of that, lately," she said. "Things have been stressful."

That was understating it. 'Stressful' didn't even begin to cover what they, what everyone in the magical world, had been going through. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly cynical, Neville would wonder if the magical world would ever be able to recover.

"Yeah," he agreed finally.

Ginny said nothing and decided on a book, tucking it under her arm. When she turned, she must have caught the pain in Neville's face, because she walked to his side and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You really ought to go back to the dorm and get some sleep. You're not in any mood for fretting."

Neville opened his mouth to protest, but Ginny's firm grip stated quite clearly that she would hear nothing of it. When he didn't move, Ginny took her hand from his shoulder and made her way towards the door.

"Coming?" she asked, gesturing to the exit.

Neville shook his head. "I'll be along soon. I just..."

"...Need some time alone?" she guessed, a knowing expression on her face. By this point, Neville was near-certain that Ginny had a sixth-sense about things. She always seemed to _know_. It got frustrating sometimes. It was hard to slip anything by her.

Ginny's hand brushed against the stone archway of the door, fingers trailing along the intricate stone design. She turned her head back to Neville, a sad, sad smile on her face. "I know how you feel, you know. I know how it feels to...to not know if someone precious to you is safe or not."

And it was then, in that very moment, that Neville realized that Ginny was hurting so much more than she'd been letting on. Her brother was out there. The person that she was in love with was out there. Hermione, her friend, was also out there. Three of her loved ones were out risking their lives to end the very war that no one else had been able to put a stop to.

They were only seventeen. Everyone had been thinking that: how can they do it? They're just children.

It was true. Neville didn't know how any of them were supposed to successfully do anything. As he looked at Ginny, a girl only one year younger than himself but who still seemed to be _so young_, he realized just how much they were all risking.

_This war has taken so much from everyone, _Neville thought mournfully, _because even if we don't lose a single loved one, we're still going to be scarred by this. We will never forget what happened these past couple of years. We've lost our innocence...and how do you mourn that?_

"What I'm saying," Ginny continued softly, "is that we're not doing them any service by killing ourselves with worry. We can hope, we can pray, we can help if and when we can. That's all we can do...nothing more."

"You miss them, don't you?"

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to pull them back and keep them from reaching her ears. It had been an insensitive thing to say. He was rubbing salt in a wound that was already raw.

He could barely see her face, but Ginny's eyes tightened and her lips thinned in an uncommon expression of pain. He ducked his head, not wanting to see the result of his careless words.

"Yes," she answered finally, he voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, I do. I miss them a lot. And I'm scared."

Neville didn't say anything further. He didn't trust his mouth. He seemed to be in the mood for saying dumb things and he wasn't about to stick his foot any further into his mouth than he already had.

He looked up. "Ginny, I-"

But he didn't get a chance to finish the sentence. Ginny had disappeared.

* * *

Malik Ishtar was angry. No, that wasn't the right word. Malik was _furious._

He wasn't upset with anyone in particular. After all, none of his companions were at fault for his foul mood. Ryou had, actually, been very worried and had been trying to help all that he could. Draco had been supportive to Malik's eventual recovery, but had otherwise declined to spend any time in or around the bathroom that Malik had spent the past six hours in.

All of them were sick, tired, and frustrated...

...Because Malik had been worshipping the porcelain god, and making significant offerings, since one in the morning. He was getting tired of it. The others were getting tired of it. Bakura had retired to his soul room because he just didn't feel like dealing with it anymore.

"Malik?"

Malik blinked at the voice. It wasn't the one that he'd been expecting. "Draco?" he queried, blinking groggily over at the door. "Where's Ryou?"

Ryou had been his attendee for the past few hours, and hadn't heard him leave the other side of the door.

"He went out to find some kind of medicine to help. He didn't want to leave you, but hell if I knew what a _Pepto Bismol_ is. Muggle medications are awfully tedious," the teenager snorted, "that's why we have healers like Madam Pomfrey."

"What's a Madam Pomfrey?" Malik queried, barely managing to get the words out before he was, once again, retching over the side of the toilet.

"She's the healer...ah...nurse witch at Hogwarts. Or was. I'm not sure if she bailed between this year and the last..." Draco sounded like he wasn't sure if he was supposed to be pitying Malik or disgusted with the fact that there was some serious illness on the other side of the door.

Malik, refusing to stand up in case of starting another fit of sickness, reached up and began groping around the countertop for a towel. When he finally found one, he wiped his face and tossed the sullied cloth into the bathtub.

He hated life. He really, really hated it. What could he have possibly caught, done, or eaten to be causing such sickness?

_But it's happened before, _a dark part of his mind whispered conspiratorially, _you know this sickness. It's something that you spent years running from. A sickness of your own creation-_

He stopped the thoughts there. Marik was gone. He was _not_ going to be going there. Travelling down that road would cause nothing but madness. He couldn't spend his time trying to create something out of nothing. There was no point.

Malik was jerked out of his thoughts by the sound of rapping on the door. He heard Draco stand and then pull the door open.

"Hey," he greeted, "he's still in the bathroom."

"I figured," Ryou murmured, sounding worried. Ryou knocked on the bathroom door. "Malik? Are you alive?"

Malik growled under his breath. Ryou always found the worst possible moments to be snarky. The door opened, and said person's face poked in. Ryou held out a white bag, with what Malik assumed had to be his stomach medication.

"Up for some?" Ryou queried softly.

Malik shrugged slightly, not releasing his grip around the edge of the toilet seat. "You might see it again," he warned. He saw Draco wrinkle his nose in disgust.

"We have to leave in the morning," Ryou said slowly, pouring some of the pink medication into a small cup that came with the bottle. "So I hope that you'll be past this by then."

When Ryou proffered the cup in his direction, Malik accepted it with a grunt. "Just hang me out the window," he quipped before downing the contents as quickly as he could. He made a bit of a face before deciding that it wasn't the worst he'd had to drink in his lifetime.

Draco examined his nails. "We've been led in every wrong direction so far, right?"

Ryou and Malik both glanced over to him, neither of them sure exactly what he was getting at. The question had been rather out of the blue.

"I mean, something's got to be wrong with that Millennium Ring of yours," Draco pointed out, gesturing at Ryou's Item. "So...what if we did this like wizards do?"

"There's nothing wrong with my Millennium Item," Ryou insisted, a little insulted.

"Except for the fact that Britain seems to not want us to find this Harry Potter kid," Malik said, trying to make himself comfortable. He sighed, glancing at Ryou in apology. "You know that something's wrong."

"Britain is the highest concentration of wizards in the world," Draco said. "You can't find a village without at least one. That amount of magic has _got_ to be messing with your...Millennium Thingy."

Ryou frowned. The logic was solid. The magic that permeated every space of air in this country was most likely putting the Shadow Magic on the fritz. Magic that was drawn from another dimension was hard pressed to transport itself to this world when it had to battle other magic to get there.

But he already knew that.

"So how do we do this 'like wizards do'?" Ryou asked, leaning against the counter. "I'll admit: you have me worried."

Draco smiled wryly. "You know that government we talked about earlier? The Ministry of Magic? Well, if there's anywhere that we want to go, it's there. There's this one spot...the Department of Mysteries...maybe we could find something there."

"Sounds ominous," Ryou mused gravely. The entire concept made him a little too uncomfortable. This was stepping out of his realm of control, out of his knowledge and understanding. Sure, they had been in too deep for a long time, but they had always been the ones planning. Putting Draco at the wheel meant making himself (and Bakura) take a backseat. Ryou wasn't sure if he could cope with that.

He wanted to trust Draco, he had said that he did more times than once, but there was something nagging at his brain. It was like a grain of doubt, a little whisper saying that Draco could betray them at any moment. He wanted to ignore it, but Ryou knew that his instincts were nothing to scoff at.

Because there was something that, Ryou knew, could possibly jeopardize everything. Draco had an out with them if he needed it. He was a walking danger, a liability. Draco was a loose cannon that they couldn't afford to keep...

But looking at Draco's face, at how determined and driven he appeared, Ryou had to wonder if he was imagining the whole lot of it.

"But there's one problem," Draco said. "The Ministry's loaded with _His_ followers. They're everywhere. I wouldn't be surprised if they outnumbered the rest of the workers."

"Great," Malik mumbled

"We'd have to go in disguise. Polyjuice potion," Draco paused, realizing who he was talking to, "that stuff that made the woman who attacked us look like that woman you met, Ryou, would be our best option. Problem is that I don't have the right ingredients, and going to Diagon or Knockturn Alley to find it is going to be a bad idea. So...we need to disguise ourselves the muggle way."

Malik's eyebrows shot up into his hairline and he looked like he may have been sick again. Then a slow, toothy smile spread across his face and he gave Ryou the most diabolical expression Draco had seen in his life.

"Disguises, huh?" Malik murmured. Even though his voice was still hoarse from all of his retching, he still (somehow) sounded rather evil. "I think we can do that."

Ryou just sighed. "I'll go shopping again. Later, though."

Nausea roiled through Malik and he found his head back in the toilet, throwing up the medicine that he'd just taken. Ryou and Malfoy both grimaced.

"Are you okay?" Ryou asked hesitantly, putting a gentle hand on Malik's back.

Malik groaned, wiping his face again with disgust. "I don't get this at all..."

_"We need to talk to him about this," _Bakura said quietly through their link. He sounded troubled. _"I have a...feeling about this."_

Ryou nodded in response to Bakura's words. He gripped Malik's shoulder, guiding him back into a sitting position so that he could look at him directly. "Do you think that-"

"No."

The suddenness and force of Malik's response took Ryou aback for a moment. They stared at each other for a moment, a very tense moment, before Malik broke eye contact to flush the toilet and glare down at the bathroom tiles.

Draco sighed. "I know when I'm not wanted," he said gruffly. "I'll go get some drinks downstairs, or something." He stormed out of the bathroom and slammed the hotel room door behind him.

"Wait-" Ryou tried to call, to say that Draco had misunderstood, but Draco was already out the door.

Ryou heard him go, his footsteps stomping down the hallway. He was a little surprised by the small fit of temper, but he understood Draco's feelings. He was likely upset that they were still holding things back from him after all that they'd been through together.

But they had a good reason.

"He's been tense every since Bakura made a point of staring at his arm," Malik murmured, "before we got in that last car we stole."

"He's trying to hide it. He doesn't realize that we know," Ryou murmured softly, crossing the room and closing the bathroom door.

"Then he's an idiot," Malik groused.

"Scared," Ryou corrected, "he's scared. He thinks that he'll lose the trust he's gained if he tells us."

"Not telling us is only going to make it worse."

Ryou sighed. Malik wasn't the most empathetic person in the entire world. "I know that, but he hasn't figured it out yet." He paused. "But I'm a little surprised that we've been this hard to track, thus far. I had assumed the mark meant that _he_ could find Draco."

"Maybe our magic's diluting it? Kind of like what theirs does to ours?" Malik commented, leaning away from the toilet bowl and scooting backwards to prop himself against the wall.

Ryou nodded. "It's possible. The repelling force may be a two-way street."

"But we have to be careful," Malik said sharply, "because he could screw us anytime he wanted."

"We should think of some way to block it, maybe. So that it's inaccessible. It'll put everyone's minds at ease."

_"We could always just cut his arm off," _Bakura offered.

Ryou ignored that comment.

"But if he does anything to jeopardize this," Malik murmured, his voice smooth as silk, "then I'm going to kill him...slowly."

Ryou said nothing to that, either, but a small part of him jerked at the words. They didn't sound like Malik. They sounded like...

...Someone else.

_- I wonder if he's noticed it, - _Ryou whispered to Bakura.

_"Unlikely. He's in denial."  
__  
_Ryou nodded, agreeing. _- Yes, but the question is...what kind of incarnation will it be? - _

* * *

Neville stormed into the Gryffindor common room with a stride that meant business. He appeared almost menacing with the pace of his feet and the look on his face.

One only had to look into his eyes, though, to see the fear in them.

"Where's Ginny?" he demanded of a few straggling fourth-years who were up _far_ past their bedtimes.

A shorter, dark-haired boy blinked at Neville owlishly. "What're _you_ on about? She's in bed just like everyone else."

"Obviously _not_ everyone," Neville shot back, giving the four boys a very pointed glare. They shifted uncomfortably over the seventh-year's scrutinizing stare, but none of them caved and left.

"What do you need her for at this time?" a blonde boy asked. When he turned to address Neville directly, he noticed that the four boys had been playing a game of wizard's chess. Interesting choice of party game.

Neville frowned, his brow creasing with his mounting frustration. "I don't mean to be cross with any of you," he said, "but it's _really_ none of your business." Had it been anyone other than Neville Longbottom, the boys would have taken offence. They could sense the panic in his voice, though. The boys exchanged looks. Something was definitely wrong.

"What's going on down here?"

From the girls' dormitory came a young woman. She was in Ginny's year, Neville recalled. Matilda Piercey, if he was remembering correctly. She was a tall girl with long, dark hair and big, brown eyes. She kept to herself, though, and often appeared stand-offish.

Neville flushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

She smiled tersely. "You're lucky that you're cute," she commented, "or I'd have skinned you for it."

"I _am _sorry," he amended.

"What do you need?" she asked, glancing at all of them.

"I need Ginny," Neville said without hesitation, stepping forwards. "I need to see her right away. I'm sorry that it's so late, really, I am. But...I need her _immediately_."

Matilda's eyebrows rose quite nearly into her hairline. "Late night romp, hm?" she teased. Neville went red at the lewd joke, mumbling his denial of any such romping. Matilda laughed and tucked some wayward hair behind her ear. "Give me a minute, I think she went to bed."

Neville watched, resigned, as she disappeared back up the stairwell.

The dark-haired boy glanced at Neville. "Like em' younger, huh?" he teased. The boy waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. Neville blanched.

"Stuff it," Neville growled, not taking well to being teased twice. Ginny was Harry's girl. Neville would never impede on something like that. Besides, he had more important things to worry about than adolescent fantasies.

The boys all clamped their mouths shut.

He heard feet coming back down the stairs and saw a flash of red hair as Ginny appeared at the foot of the steps. She was wearing a tattered, white bathrobe that she'd thrown on over her pyjamas. Her hair was a little wild, too. She'd definitely been asleep.

Matilda appeared behind her, but when she took one look at Neville, she raised her eyebrows. "I think I'll leave the two of you to it," she said, disappearing back up the steps.

Ginny watched her go before turning to her friend and stand-in leader.

"Neville?" she queried, surprise in her tired voice. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry that I had to wake you," he apologized. Then he swung his gaze to the boys in the common room. "Can you four go to bed, or something?"

The boys opened their mouths to protest, but one look from Ginny sent all four of them scrambling upstairs like she'd lit their backsides on fire. Neville had to appreciate her talent. Ginny definitely had a way with younger kids. She'd probably inherited that particular trait from her mum.

Once Ginny was sure that the boys were gone, she fixed Neville with a very piercing stare. Her voice quivered slightly with fear at that _look _on his face. "What's wrong, Neville? What happened?"

The strong front he'd been trying to keep up broke with her words. He collapsed back onto one of the couches, putting his head in his hands.

"I asked some of the Ravenclaws if they'd seen Luna at all this week." He raised his head to Ginny, feeling laden down with an impossible heaviness at his next words. "Magda Ridley, a girl in our year...she said that she saw Luna being escorted out by Death Eaters."

Ginny gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. "Oh, God..."

Neville felt hot tears welling up, but he tried to force them back. "They have her, Ginny. I don't know why they took her, but they did..."

"Neville..." Ginny was at his side in a second, hugging him tightly. "I'm so sorry..."

And, with those last three words, Neville felt something inside of him _break_.

End Chapter

Shorter, yes, but there's a lot of stuff in this chapter.

I'm not going to lie - I'm having some raging writer's block with this story. I know Point A and Point B, but it's getting there that's killing me, right now.

Just bear with me, please. I _am _trying.

OoCA


	7. Whispers

It's been a little while, hasn't it?

Chapter Seven

Whispers

Egypt was quiet that night.

How strange, one man thought, that such an ancient place could seem so at peace with itself. So many dark things had occurred here, many things that the world was largely unaware of. It was not a place where one would expect to find peace; not in the abandoned thief village of a name that escaped him. According to their records, a terrible massacre had occurred here.

How interestingly destructive these muggles had been. They had destroyed a village of accused sorcerers, monsters, and thieves in an effort to create the most destructive magical articles in Egyptian history.

It seemed, he had to think, that the Death Eaters' presence in this ancient village defiled its peace. Then, in the seconds' wake of the thought, he had to wonder when he began to see his own fellow Death Eaters as a bane.

Interesting.

Lucius Malfoy followed all of the work in the village with a sharp eye, watching each man and woman scramble about to fulfil the Dark Lord's wishes. His followers were loyal. They would obey the Dark Lord until their dying day.

But Lucius Malfoy was no such follower. The Wizarding World may have seen him as a cruel man, but Lucius Malfoy's loyalties lay only with his family. He had affiliated himself with the Dark Lord seeking power. Only too late did he realize that his wife and son had been irrevocably intertwined with that world.

It had been his choice. He was not sure if he would ever take that choice, that step towards power, back. He had become the Dark Lord's lapdog, though, and Lucius Malfoy was no one's pet.

With the betrayal of his son and the imprisonment of his wife, Lucius was quite near the end of his fuse. He was quite close to ending this silly game.

_But Narcissa will suffer if I so much as twitch in the wrong direction, _he thought coldly, eyes moving to the Dark Lord himself as he surveyed his men. _He has made that quite clear._

The same could not, unfortunately, be said for his son. Draco was a marked man - and no matter how brave a young man he was for making his decision, he had damned himself by doing so. Any Death Eater that saw him would attempt to kill on sight. Lucius only prayed that those fools he was traveling with could protect him.

There were no lives more important than that of his family's. Lucius Malfoy was cruel enough that he would ensure their safety in any way that he could, even to the detriment of his own Dark Master.

"Marvellous, isn't it, Lucius?"

He jerked at the velvet voice of the Dark Lord. He sent shivers up spines with that voice - the voice of the coldest killer in wizard history. The Dark Lord was legendary for a reason.

And, standing in the face of a legend, Lucius Malfoy felt nothing but fear.

"Wonderful, my Lord," Lucius echoed, disgusted by the nature of his own grovelling. He had been stripped of his pride in the wake of his wife and son's betrayals. He had nothing left but to pant obediently in the lap of his master.

_And you, Narcissa, are reaping what you have sewn by helping our manic son._

The rustling of a long skirt coupled with the clicking of sharp heels. Lucius turned.

Speaking of _manic_…

"We have it, my Lord," Bellatrix Lestrange cooed, wand in hand, as she waved her arms in her typically dramatic fashion.

Lord Voldemort's lips spread in a vile, shark-like grin. "Excellent. I am most pleased."

The woman shuddered with pleasure at his words, bowing low - almost with her forehead to her boots. She grinned also, where the Dark Lord's was a shark, she was a feral cat. When she straightened and faced Lucius, though, she had gone cold.

"Lucius," she greeted in even tones.

She was not worth his time. Bellatrix was one woman he'd have liked to remove from the Black family history _years_ ago. "Bellatrix," he replied in an equal monotone.

"How _are _you?" she queried in a sing-song voice, dancing around him in a full-circle. She flashed her teeth at him in a vicious smile, eyes going wide.

Lucius did not take the bait. "Perfectly fine," he sneered, lips twitching up into a predatory smile of his own. "And you, my dear?"

Clearly put out by him not upsetting the way she wanted, Bellatrix sniffed and turned away. "I am not your anything, Lucius. Keep that in mind."

Lucius turned to the Dark Lord. "My Lord," he said, stepping past Bellatrix, "how are we to complete the stone? It is meant to house all seven of those Millennium Items, two of which those traitors have, and-"

"Do not fret, Lucius," Voldemort said, cutting him off with a wave of his hand. "It is of no matter."

Lucius cocked an eyebrow. _How so? _Oh, he was just so _eager_ to find out.

Voldemort turned to the man who had approached them, gesturing forward with a disturbingly elegant sweep of the hand. "Take us to the stone, McRyne."

Lucius's eyebrows shot up. McRyne…? He didn't recognize the name. The man must have been a new recruit…a very, very new recruit. Since when were new recruits allowed so much information?

Bellatrix clearly caught the look on his face, because her fingers ghosted across his shoulder and a sly smile spread across her face. As the man, McRyne, turned and began leading the way, with the Dark Lord following, Bellatrix leaned in to whisper in his ear - "McRyne has been with us for some time, Lucius. He led the search for the stone." Her lips formed into a mocking pout. "Did the Dark Lord not tell you this?"

Lucius shrugged her hand away, casting a threatening glare at the woman. "Touch me again, Bellatrix, and I will ensure that your time in this world is cut _very short_," he hissed.

Her lips popped open in a small "o" of surprise before shifting into a grin. She didn't respond, only danced forwards to walk just behind the Dark Lord. She threw a smug grin over her shoulder, eyes glittering with malicious delight.

Oh, how he loathed that woman.

McRyne folded his hands in front of him in a strange gesture of appeasement. "You will be pleased to know, My Lord, that we have uncovered the key to the alternate method of awakening the dark power."

Key? Lucius knew nothing of a key. He exhaled through his teeth, a gesture that his wife had said was his indication of frustration. He _was _frustrated; he'd been irritatingly uninformed regarding these works.

"We have deciphered enough to have clues about the identity of the key," McRyne continued, "it is pertinent that we-"

"-Identity?" Lucius interrupted. "This 'key' is a person?"

McRyne paused and glanced at the Dark Lord. Voldemort smiled at the Death Eater and gestured for him to speak. "Answer his question, McRyne."

The man seemed hesitant, but it was clear that he would never disobey his Lord's orders. "Yes. It is a person who lived during the time, the assumed sole survivor of the Kul Elna cleansing," the man's lips twitched at the irony of the description, "or, rather, the massacre."

"Massacre," Voldemort said airily, "does not constitute the history, McRyne. They were, after all, killing for a purpose."

Lucius repressed the desire to roll his eyes. 'Massacre', in their Dark Lord's eyes, would never involve killing for a purpose, for their Dark Lord did not want to see his own actions as the actions of 'massacre'. He thought of their deeds as 'progress.' The word 'massacre' inspired thoughts of senseless mass killings, such as the term genocide, or other similar phrases that the Dark Lord did not feel adequately described their work.

After all, Lucius thought wryly, what German Nazi of the Second World War felt that the killing of Jews was a massacre and not the 'cleansing' of Germany from an inferior race? His wife had once, in private, compared the Dark Lord to the muggle leader of Germany in the 1940s. At the time, Lucius had dismissed the comparison. That was a time when he still believed in the Death Eaters and their goals.

Then his son was born. Lucius had never deemed himself a compassionate man, but neither was he a fool. His son had changed him, even if that son had become a radical. When he next saw Draco, he was going to box the boy around the ears for being so hot-blooded. Only a fool escaped the Dark Lord.

Lucius would follow the Dark Lord until his service was no longer needed or Harry Potter completed the prophecy. Either way, he was not going to participate in his wife and son's insanity.

_Lucius, _he chided himself, _these mutinous thoughts will get you killed._

And only fools let themselves get killed. It was a lesson his father had taught him. Lucius obeyed that lesson, for Lucius was not a foolish man. Nor would he ever be.

_Who are you trying to convince?_ A dark part of his mind whispered.

"Tell me, McRyne," the Dark Lord said, his voice jerking Lucius away from his thoughts, "what else have you uncovered about this survivor? There are many tied to Ancient Egypt and the Millennium Items. I will not allow a wild chase for something we are unsure of."

McRyne looked nervous. Of course he was. He clearly didn't think he had enough information to satisfy the Dark Lord.

"We know that they are trapped in one of the seven Items," McRyne said, "and that it is a vengeful spirit, one who seeks to destroy the Pharaoh in the name of his Dark Master."

"Do you know which Item, McRyne?" Voldemort purred.

McRyne shook his head, hunching his shoulders as if he expected to be beaten for it. "W-We think that we need to decipher more. There are clues there, but we have few local resources."

Voldemort did not look displeased, but his expressions were always misleading. "See to it that you find out. And do it fast," said the Dark Lord.

Lucius had never before seen a man run so quickly.

* * *

The moment that Bakura stepped onto the deserted streets of Kul Elna, he knew that this dream was not going to be a good one.

His feet moved him down the road in a sickeningly familiar journey. No measure of time could have made him forget the route he took every day as a child - the one that led to the place he had called home.

There was no one to speak of in this Kul Elna. It was as he recalled it in that last day - a ghost town, deprived of all life for the sake of a Pharaoh's power. There was ultimate power, power that was crafted from the bones and blood of his people.

Inside of him, that old vengeance coiled and shifted. All decisions to ignore his revenge against the Pharaoh aside - he hated him no less. He had not forgotten. He would never forget.

And, in no less than a second, he found himself standing outside of the only true home he'd ever known. It still _looked_ like his home. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine a woman stepping out of that place, that small, shack-like place.

"Mother-"

He cut himself off. No, none of that. She was long gone. She would never come back. Wallowing in depression over it would not get anything done.

He had long accepted the death of his family and friends. He had long come to terms with the fact that she had been damned to a fate of eternal servitude. He could not change that.

But saying her name had quite nearly broken him.

The door opened. Bakura leapt backwards, clenching his fists. Who could have penetrated his dreams and come to this place? In any dream of Kul Elna he'd ever had, it was either of that day or he spent the dream alone. Never did it change.

A child stepped out, dropping to the ground and curling his knees up to his chest, folding his arms around them. Tears were streaming down that child's face. Violet eyes were screwed up in pain that Bakura could recall with disturbing clarity. The child's skin was tanned but his hair was near-white...

_"Mama...Mama..." _the boy whimpered, _"Mama...where are you?"_

He knew this child. He knew this child far, far too well.

"Sad, isn't it?"

Bakura's head snapped up towards the intruding voice and beside the child now stood a man. His hair was white and he wore the robes of the Thief King, but the face was nothing like the one Bakura recalled seeing in the reflection of the water. This face was too sharp and too pale, eyes that were the colour of fresh blood. They were colder than Bakura's own eyes, lighter and harsher and filled with nothing but evil. The man smiled a smile of shark-teeth, staring at Bakura with a hungry kind of expression.

"Who are you?" Bakura demanded, squaring his shoulders. He did not like his dreams to go interrupted by such intruders.

The teeth flashed again, the man's eyes brimming with vicious amusement. "Who am _I_? I am part of you, child, what did you expect to find in the recesses of your own mind?"

He gritted his teeth. "Fool - you dare lie to me?"

"I tell no lies," the intruder said. He paused, mulling over his own words for a moment, before grinning again. "Not right at this moment, in any case."

Bakura stared, scrutinizing this stranger (why was he so familiar?) wearing the clothes of his past. "What're you playing at?" he demanded, lip curling with distaste at this unwanted person.

"Me?" the stranger crowed, laughing aloud. It wasn't a pleasant laugh - more of a bark of malicious pleasure. Had Bakura been a cat, his hackles would have been raised.

The man met Bakura's eyes straight on, red on red. "Child...ah - wait, you go by _Bakura_ now, don't you, _Spirit of the Millennium Ring_?"

"What do you _want_?" Bakura demanded, taking a threatening step forward. The man threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender, the shark-grin returning.

"Ah, ah," he said, waggling a finger as if Bakura was a child, "You had better be careful, _Bakura_. Attacking me will only hurt you, in the end."

That took him aback.

"What?" Bakura asked, rage and confusion mingling. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"For such a _dedicated_ follower," the stranger sneered, pointed teeth flashing in the sunlight, "you aren't very _smart_, are you?" Before Bakura could retort, the man threw his arms outwards and the scene, very suddenly, shifted.

Both of them stood, still opposite one another, in a small room of stone. Between them was a table, one with a mapped scene of the land Bakura was born into. Just in the centre, shrouded in a cloud of dark miasma, was an upside-down pyramid.

Behind the table was a sarcophagus, open to reveal a shrivelled, mummified corpse.

"Had you not taken your exciting little jaunt around Europe," the other man sneered, fingers brushing the edge of the table, "you would be here - fighting a most _marvellous _Shadow Game with the Pharaoh."

Bakura knew. Before Ryou and he had...accepted their connection, Bakura had planned this particular story quite well.

"How do you know of this?" Bakura demanded, clenching his fists at his sides. He didn't like being in the dark. He didn't like the way this man tried to patronize him, either.

"I know of this because I know of everything about you," the man said, a lilting sneer edging into his tone, "I am _part_ of you, Bakura."

And, very suddenly, the pieces fell into place.

"Zorc Necrophades," Bakura hissed through his teeth, taking an instinctive step back. "I wasn't aware that the part of _you_ that was inside of _me_ was still alive. I had assumed that you'd died along with my previous priorities," Bakura's lips pulled back into a sneer of his own. "Clearly, I was wrong."

"Clearly," Zorc echoed with a devious smile, seating himself across from Bakura with a decidedly dramatic flourish. He interlaced his fingers, elbows resting on the sides of the chair. He stared over those fingers, long and bony and pale, with his blood red eyes.

"What do you want?" Bakura asked. It was time to get to the point. Zorc had clearly summoned himself to Bakura's mind for a purpose. He never did anything without one. "I doubt that you're here just for a chat."

"There is a reason," Zorc said, "that I appear as a distorted reflection of you, dear slave."

"Don't call me your slave," Bakura snapped, "I do not serve you. Not anymore."

Zorc barked out a laugh. "But you have been neglecting to purge your soul of the part of _me_ that lives inside. What an exciting double-standard."

Bakura did not like to be laughed at. He did not like to be played. This man, this monster, was toying with the shredded remains of Bakura's self-control.

But that was the point, wasn't it? Zorc Necrophades wanted Bakura weak. He wanted him to lose control so that the monster could _take_ control.

"You want Ryou's body," Bakura said, realization dawning in a cold wave of horror. Zorc had seen the prophecy in Ryou's mind. He had seen what could and (in all likelihood) would happen. He wanted to ensure his revival.

What better way that to claim a physical body? It would act as a portal to release his full form. A human host would give him complete control in the physical realm.

_Multiple ways for evil to return, but only one way to stop it..._

Well, he'd clearly put his foot in his mouth on this one. His words had come back to bite him in the ass. This had been a sloppy miscalculation on his part. Zorc was sealed away, yes, but that did not erase him from existence. Of course he would make a move - any move that he could - to guarantee his rebirth.

How had Bakura not seen that?

"I have no hold over the child's soul," Zorc, this small part of the monster, said in even tones. "It is you, Bakura, with whom I hold a key into this world. You gave yourself to me many lifetimes ago - why would you not do it again? I can offer you great power. We can take the Pharaoh so easily, now that his memories are gone."

_Revenge._

"It is what you have always wanted for your people. You cannot deprive them of their vengeance, Bakura - they are your everything. You have forgotten them."

_Murder._

_Death._

"I'm not going to fall for your pathetic trickery!" Bakura roared, dark energy crackling across his body like an electric storm.

"You already have," Zorc answered with a razor-tooth smile. "After all, would I be here if you were so resistant to my power? You are _mine_, slave."

Then the ground shook, and up from the floor came chains the colour of gold. They wrapped around his wrists, and no matter how hard he tried to fight them, they sealed themselves tightly and brought him to his knees. Bakura cursed as his knees skinned against the floor and his palms hit the ground with enough force to bring up a cloud of dust.

"You are bound by the death in your past," Zorc whispered, his voice carrying on the air as if it were a melody. "You are chained by the _mortals_ you so _treasured._"

"I was once mortal," Bakura seethed, pushing himself up onto his knees. "What made you choose me, Zorc, if you so _loathe_ mortals?"

Zorc settled his gaze on Bakura, an unsettling red gaze that made Bakura half-wonder if his own eyes unnerved people in a similar way. The plague of Ancient Egypt smiled then, a lip-lifting smile of pleasure that seemed almost...fatherly, in a disturbed, twisted sort of way.

"You were such an intriguing human," Zorc explained, never shifting his gaze. He held Bakura's eyes steadily, and Bakura couldn't summon the courage to look away. His own weakness sickened him. "In my existence, I have never seen such hatred. Your loathing was impressive, to say the least, and so deliciously _blind_," the monster licked his lips, revealing a long, lizard-like tongue. "You were a worthy experiment, such a good servant."

"I do not...serve you," Bakura said through clenched teeth as he strained to pull away from his bonds. It was a useless endeavour, surely, but he refused to give up. He refused to relinquish any sense of weakness to this monster.

"A temporary setback," Zorc drawled, "and a brief outburst of rebellion. I will accept you with no consequence, Bakura, if you surrender to me now."

Surrender.

Bakura scowled. No. He could not, would not surrender.

Zorc smiled. "I like the spunk, child. You always had energy, it seemed. Boundless, endless energy that drove you through the Hells and back." His smile vanished, though, and he strode up just inches away from Bakura and grabbed his face with one clawed hand, forcing Bakura's head up.

"Look at me," Zorc purred, a soft demand that, once, would have swayed Bakura in an instant. Not now, though. Not after he'd laid his vengeances to rest. The Pharaoh deserved whatever bad things came his way, but Bakura would no longer have any part in his destruction. The Pharaoh could bring that on himself.

When Bakura did not do as he was instructed, Zorc tightened his grip on Bakura's chin. "_Look at me,_" he hissed, so quietly that his voice nearly disappeared into the wind. Bakura, however, did not budge in response.

His silent refusal only seemed to incite Zorc's temper. It was a volatile, quick-burning temper. Bakura knew that from the first time around.

"Look at me, you foolish child!" He thrust Bakura's face from his hand and, using the momentum of his push, backhanded Bakura so hard that the restraints on his arms cut into his wrists.

Bakura chuckled, a sound that was sinister even to his own ears. He raised his eyes, glaring over his bangs with a smile of his own. "Frustrated, Zorc? Mad that you can achieve nothing without my help?"

"You are nothing," Zorc snarled in response, his teeth curling back viciously. He took a few steps back and paced away. He was clearly upset over his loss of opportunity. After all, he was nothing if he could not intimidate Bakura into giving control. He had no sway. He had no hand in the mortal realm.

And suddenly, Bakura felt much stronger. It gave him the power to dissolve the shackles binding him. They vanished, dispersing into the air into foggy nothing. Bakura rubbed his wrists as he stood. The scene changed, back to Kul Elna, back to the place where all of this had begun.

Zorc spun, his expression rolling into manic hatred. "You are nothing," he repeated, "and you will submit to me, slave!"

"I will not," Bakura snarled. Something tickled his legs, and Bakura looked down to see that his own body was beginning to disappear into the sand.

Zorc's eyes widened, however the gesture was so minimal that anyone else would have missed it. He realized that Bakura was, right before him, slipping away from his grasp. He was losing his foothold again, just as he had when he'd been sent to the Shadow Realm in Battle City.

Bakura expected Zorc to attack. He expected Zorc to do something rash, something in sync with the vicious temper the creature had displayed time and time again during his days in Egypt. Zorc did not do this, though. Instead, he paused, and a slow smile began to spread across the face he'd stolen from Bakura.

"I will return, _Bakura_," Zorc said in even tones, his voice deceptively calm. "Keep in mind that you and you alone will unlock the prison that binds me. It has always been you."

"If so," Bakura sneered at the spirit, relishing in the sensation of his form vanishing into the wind, "then you are doomed, Zorc."

His form disappeared completely, and he let himself succumb to the strange emptiness that surrounded his consciousness as he left that part of his mind, a part that he hadn't realized still lived so strongly.

So he locked it away. He locked it behind many doors with many chains. Then, for a split second before he was sprung back into reality, he relinquished his cynicism to pray that those locks and chains would hold forever.

_- Yami…? - _

And suddenly he was awake, awake into the real world. Ryou was in control of the body. He was standing in the bedroom reading the back of a box of…hair dye?

_- Are you okay? – _Ryou asked through the link. Bakura could feel concern radiating from Ryou's end. _– I couldn't reach you. – _

"_I'm fine. Tired." _And an even more tired excuse. Ryou wasn't buying it; that much was clear. Still, Ryou respected privacy, even if he knew something was wrong. He knew Bakura's tone and wouldn't, he hoped, pester for answers.

"So here's the deal," Malik said from his bed where he was laying out his own disguise tools of choice. "It's a super-sneaky storm-the-castle thing we've got going on here. Sounds right?"

Ryou sighed and shook his head good-naturedly. "If you must put it that way," he agreed reluctantly.

"We're basically throwing ourselves on their whim, hoping that they don't recognize our paltry excuse for disguises, and then we're going to find…what, exactly?" Draco popped out of the bathroom after voicing his thoughts, looking irritated and a bit worse for wear.

"This was _your _idea," Malik pointed out. "Cold feet…?"

"Cold _nothing_," Draco snapped, crossing his arms. "I suggested it because _you _both need some way to find Potter and his friends. Well _I_ sure don't know how to, and _you_ two seem to be in no better a position."

"And this Department of Mysteries is our shot at finding something," Ryou supplemented. "We're desperate and losing this battle. We have to do something."

"I hate that I suggested it," Draco said. "I hate this."

"So, no cold feet, right?" Malik drawled sarcastically, pulling his hair back into long tail at the nape of his neck.

"_Not_ cold feet!" Draco shouted. "I've realized, far quicker than either of you, how utterly stupid this is! We're just handing ourselves-ugh! Damn it!" He punched the wall in an abrupt and very unusual show of temper. Draco's temper was hot, but more familiar with biting words than physical retaliation.

It was making Ryou anxious, too. "You're afraid that this is going to end badly," Ryou said. It was a pretty safe guess – he'd already worried about the plan a thousand times. "I get it. I really do. We have to do something, though. We can't wait for _them_ to make a move and we can't wait for Harry Potter to just bump into us on the street.

"From what we gather," Ryou continued, "the three are on the run for a reason. That means that they have to be crafty about things. We're not going to find them without help and effort. If the Death Eaters can't, then we certainly won't."

"So you're suggesting that they're better than us," Draco snapped.

Ryou shook his head. "No. Only that they have a thousand times our resources and considerably more manpower."

Draco frowned, glaring away and turning tail back into the bathroom. Ryou stood immediately, following him as far as the doorway. Draco stood in front of the mirror, his wand in his hand. He noticed Ryou's presence through the reflection, casting him a nasty look.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

Ryou blew out a long sigh, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. "Draco, look," he said softly, "we've pulled crazier stunts than this. You have to trust that we can make this beneficial to us simply because we have exhausted all other options."

"The Snake-Bastard isn't going to stop looking for ways to destroy your world just so that we can have a merry romp around Europe looking for Potter and his friends," Malik said, approaching the doorway also.

Draco scowled. "What is this, a party?"

When neither responded, Draco's scowl deepened and he raised his wand level with his head. "Now let me work, will you?" he sneered.

Ryou and Malik exchanged glances as Draco waved the wand and uttered a spell that neither of them caught. As the words left his mouth, a strange almost-clear fluid seemed to shoot from the wand and towards Draco's face. It vanished a second later, leaving the blue-eyed blonde a hazel-eyed brunette.

Draco seemed to be in a scowling mood, for he glared at his new reflection with clear disgust. "Lord, I look-"

"Like you," Malik supplied. Draco looked as if he were to protest, clearly thinking that this was an entirely unwelcome change. From behind his back, Malik drew a pair of scissors. "So we're going to fix that."

"Don't you _dare_ touch my hair," Draco warned.

"It has to be done."

"I said _don't_ touch it!"

"Quit being a ninny, you spoiled rich little-"

"-Bugger off, I tell you! I'll hex you, I swear it!"

"I'll show you hex-!"

In the end, a rather pleased looking Malik stood behind Draco and worked scissor-magic while Draco glowered at Ryou as if the entire situation was his fault.

"You should have stopped him," the young wizard muttered.

Ryou raised both hands, palm-up, in surrender. "I'm sorry," he offered weakly.

"Means bugger-all when he's _cutting my damn hair_," Draco hissed, narrowing his eyes at Malik's reflection in the mirror. He then redirected his defeated frustration onto Malik. "If you botch this…"

Malik stopped cutting to take a firm hand and grab the top of Draco's head, snapping his neck straight forwards. Draco protested loudly, but Malik's grasp was stronger, keeping his head facing straight forward. "Keep moving, and I _am_ going to screw up."

That effectively shut the blonde-turned-brunette up, leaving him to resume a glowering contest with his own reflection. It didn't last long, because Malik finished his work in relatively short order, brushing stray strands away from Draco's neck. A quick affair with a container of gel from Malik's own personal collection left Draco staring into the mirror with awed shock.

"I'm impressed," Ryou said to Malik, grinning at him.

Draco's irritated expression turned to one of devious glee as he turned on Ryou, wand at the ready. "And guess what?" he sneered. "You're next."

Ryou raised his hands up, as if it were to block the oncoming spell. "What are you going to do?" he demanded. There was no way that he was letting Draco do strange things to his physical body with their other magic. He didn't want to face the probable negative consequences.

"I'm just going to change your hair colour," Draco said, looking a little insulted that Ryou didn't trust his judgment. "I can't do too much transfiguration with your face – it wasn't really my best subject. I'd rather avoid causing your bones to melt away." He looked retrospective for a second, a slight smile on his face as if he were recalling something related from his past.

Ryou didn't like that look.

Malik snipped his scissors. "And I'm going to cut it. Your hair is way, way too recognizable, Ryou."

He bowed his head, glancing forlornly up at his dusting of white bangs. His hair may have marked him as a standout and an easy victim for bullies during his youth, but he was proud of it. It was something that he'd shared with his father, something that he was loathe to get rid of in the wake of his father's murder.

He didn't want to give up that part of himself. Not really. It would be like admitting what had happened. Ryou was still hoping – _praying_ – that it had been all a dream. Maybe he'd wake up in his bed, not having lost his father, only lonely and waiting for another phone call, another put-off of their rare meetings.

From the look that Malik was giving him, he understood the devastated expression completely.

"Ryou, we can dye your hair back after this is over," he said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It'll grow back, too."

Ryou straightened and steeled himself. "Do it," was all he said.

It was time to stop risking the future by wallowing in the past. He'd been doing that for far, far too long. At this point, with the way things were, he wasn't helping anything. He was only putting himself and others in danger.

He couldn't be selfish, anymore. He'd spent this entire journey, this whole terrible, awful experience, mourning the mistakes he'd made and the losses he'd suffered. He'd fretted over what had happened to _him_, what _he_ had lost, what _he _still stood to lose.

Yet he'd forgotten that Malik's family was still at risk, Draco had possibly lost his mother and was alienated from his family forever, and that so many of these wizards had suffered in this war far longer than he.

"_Stop that," _Bakura hissed, pulling Ryou from his thoughts. _"You are only selfish in this pathetic show of self-loathing."_

Bakura's words pulled a wry smile to his face. _– I'm sorry, - _Ryou replied.

"_You had better be."_

Draco raised his wand to Ryou's head again; taking the silence following the Japanese teen's declaration as an affirmative. He murmured a spell, waving his wand once, twice…then lowered his arm.

Ryou wanted to ask why he hadn't done anything yet – after all, he'd felt nothing to indicate a spell had actually been cast – but then he caught his reflection in the mirror.

The contrast was incredible. Ryou's hair was jet black, emphasizing his Japanese-born features. He had always felt like a stranger in Japan; he was a person of Japanese descent, yes, but he was an outsider by his looks. His semi-European heredity showed in his hair colour and light skin. He'd inherited the dark eyes of a Japanese lineage, however, and with black hair, he looked almost purely so.

Malik looked a little shocked by the difference, too. He got right to work, though, almost as if he wanted to do the damage before Ryou could back out of it.

So Ryou waited.

As the "snip-snip" of the scissors took over all other sound in the bathroom, Ryou closed his eyes and redirected his thoughts to his other half.

_- Yami, - _Ryou whispered through the link, _- what happened earlier? – _

Bakura's soul gave a strange sort of aura, one that Ryou did not miss. _"Nothing, landlord," _the spirit replied curtly. It was too quick, though. Ryou knew that much.

_- Keeping secrets will only make things harder, - _Ryou chastised, feeling frustration at the hypocrisy of his other half's conduct._ – Please, - _he begged.

"_Leave it,"_ Bakura warned, dropping all pretense of 'nothing-is-wrong' and getting straight to the defensive. _"I am serious, Ryou. Drop this."_

There was something in his other half's tone that tugged at Ryou's mind, made him worry and wonder. Ryou went quiet for a moment, debating that odd thought, before finally recognizing what it actually was.

_- What has you so scared? – _Ryou asked softly.

Bakura's aura went still, as if Ryou's question had shocked him into a near-comatose state. Then something dangerous followed, something that made Ryou's own soul rear backwards in fear.

This danger was familiar. The feeling of hesitation, of expecting something awful to come, was something that had been familiar to Ryou for a long, long time.

Bakura, too, recognized it, and the sensation disappeared a moment later.

"_I did not mean to instill that in you."_ His voice floated across the link in the closest thing to an apology that Ryou was ever going to get.

It was enough. A long time ago, a time that felt farther away than it actually was, Ryou would have never trusted that as meaningful. Now, however, after all they had shared, Ryou knew the difference.

"I'm done."

The scissors stopped cutting and were set gently down onto the bathroom counter. Hands moved through Ryou's hair, ruffling it to get rid of the loose strands. Ryou took a deep breath.

He looked up into the mirror, but didn't see himself. It wasn't until he met his reflection's eyes that he was certain who he was staring at. He saw his own eyes, eyes that looked as confused as he felt. This person, however, had a shaggy cut of black around his face, alien to what he was used to seeing.

This person dropped away into the crowd, looking normal and average and everything that Ryou had wanted to be his entire childhood. Losing that marker, his white hair that boys didn't understand and girls envied, was like giving himself up. He felt so different.

"Well," Malik said, stretching his arms outwards, fingers interlaced and palms out, "I'm not exactly a hairdresser, so it's not perfect, but…"

"It's perfect," Draco said, nodding. "I barely recognize him." Something flashed across Draco's face as he spoke those words, and Ryou briefly wondered to whom the young wizard was referring.

Ryou took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. When he reopened them, he stared into his new reflection with conviction. This was him. No physical aspect defined him. This was only a necessary step in this game of cat-and-mouse they were playing.

"Now it's my turn," Malik said, ushering Ryou and Draco out of the bathroom, "so go get changed."

Ryou barely managed to get out before Malik had slammed the door practically in his face. He blinked for a moment, surprised by Malik's clear embarrassment over…something? He wasn't sure what it was or even if he wanted to question it.

Ryou made his way to the bed and picked up a tweed jacket, throwing it on over the dark button-up he'd been wearing. It was a very "professor-style" look, something that Ryou didn't often see in Japan but saw in many an English film. His father had loved them, back before the accident.

"When in Rome," Ryou murmured softly to himself, slipping on the jacket and doing up the centre button. He left the other two undone in an effort to not seem too…perfect. He wanted to be seen but not thought of. If he looked as normal and rushed as most seemed to, then it would be a disguise well done.

"The hair makes you look older, you know," Draco commented, slipping on a long coat that sat in dark contrast over his light-gray vest and white dress-shirt. He made a face after his own statement, glancing at Ryou with tentative apology. "I don't mean to offend, that is…ah…"

"No offense taken," Ryou assured him, smiling slightly. Draco was definitely trying to sidestep Ryou's previous concern over the makeover.

They fell into an awkward silence, neither of them sure how to progress the conversation. Draco went about fiddling with his buttons and with the briefcase he was apparently to carry with him. They were hoping to pose as young Ministry workers, praying that anonymity would help them keep out of trouble until they'd found whatever information they needed to find.

Draco had told them about a woman who had previously taught at Hogwarts who worked within the Ministry. She, apparently, had recruited Draco for some kind of job that Malik had referred to as "volunteer tattletales", to which Draco had loudly and somewhat abashedly protested.

She had been "attacked" by Harry Potter and his friends. It'd been all over their wizard paper, titled something along the lines of the "Prophet", if memory served.

Also in the Ministry, however, were supporters; some of them secret, most of them under extreme surveillance. Draco wasn't sure who backed Potter's cause, and Ryou and Malik had been concerned as to how they would locate these supporters without giving themselves away.

Malik's head popped out from the bathroom, his hair tied back into a tight ponytail and some kind of brush in his hand. "Er, Ryou…?" the Egyptian male queried, looking a bit embarrassed.

Ryou blinked. "Yes?"

"I need you to change my bandages…"

Draco watched as Ryou smiled without humour and followed his friend into the bathroom. The door closed after him. They could have been discussing him, perhaps. He wasn't sure.

He just hoped that they were going to pull this off and find something that would help them, because the risk was just too big.

Draco couldn't shake the bad feeling. This was a bad idea.

But there wasn't any turning back, was there?

End Chapter

I had no clue how to end that chapter. Ugh. I am not happy with that. I had to get this out, though. It's just been way, way too long.

Shit's going down next chapter, guys.


	8. The Ministry

Thank you to everyone who reviewed – I was super-touched by the positive feedback from last chapter, even post-hiatus. I really appreciate how many of you have stuck with me through this nonsense.

Much love!

Chapter Eight

The Ministry

Step one: learn the rules.

They spent three days after the first testing of their changed appearances learning the basic situation in the Wizarding World, everything down to general wizard habits in the Ministry. Draco told them everything he knew and had observed over the years.

Generally, the Wizarding workers who weren't direct supporters of either the Resistance or the Dark Lord spent their time with their heads down. They avoided eye contact. They went about their jobs. They denied knowing muggleborn wizards, avoided showing any care towards muggles, squibs, or the like, and generally treated the Death Eaters with respect. It was a matter of self-preservation, and these people had been cut to the quick. There was no such thing as loyalty, anymore. They would sell out their best friend to protect their family or themselves.

Step two: know the enemy.

Draco taught them the important names. Delores Umbridge. Pius Thicknesse. There were others, many others, and none of whom they knew by face.

Step three: enter enemy territory.

Ryou remembered the throat-constricting, stomach-dropping sensation as they stepped out of that phone booth. Surrounded by men and women rushing about their day, Ryou felt like an outsider, like a wolf in sheep's skin.

From the look on Malik and Draco's faces, they felt rather similarly.

Step four: Find information.

This proved nearly impossible. The Ministry was still reeling from Harry Potter's appearance, even if it had occurred long enough ago that damages had been long dealt with. Trust did not come to three young-faced strangers, especially with whispered news amongst Death-Eater friendlies that two foreign captives of the Dark Lord's and the Malfoy son had escaped and were yet to be found.

Eventually, Draco gave them some direction as to the layout and the three of them, rather reluctantly and against better judgment, split up.

Step five: Survive alone.

None of them knew if they were going to be able to guarantee that.

* * *

"S'cuse me, pardon me..."

"Excuse me."

"Pardon me, sir."

Malik hated crowds. He hated the feeling of being constantly touched. Malik wasn't a touchy person in the first place. Crowds were an invasion of his personal bubble, and he preferred to avoid them.

In this crowd, Malik didn't only feel invaded, he felt paranoid. He slouched. He kept his head down. He prayed that the make-up job they'd done on him had made him pale enough to be unrecognizable. His blond hair was pulled back tightly, further disguising one of the distinct markers of his physical appearance.

He just had to hope that that would be enough. Enough students at Hogwarts had seen them that a disguise would be harder to manage, but these weren't Hogwarts students. These people, Malik hoped, were too consumed with their own situations to pay much heed to his.

He weaved his way through the crowd and towards an enormous sculpture in the centre of the building. Under the massive figures atop the statue were carved people being crushed between the stone.

Malik grimaced. Doubtlessly, these figures represented the non-magical humans that the Snake Bastard so loathed. This Wizarding world sure had some significant issues.

Malik couldn't recall before seeing any form of true or false magic that existed with such detachment from the non-magical world. Most magic depended upon integration, upon a protection of or cooperation with the normal, human masses. This kind of segregation was unique to these magicians. Malik couldn't decide if he found it incredibly smart or incredibly egotistical.

"Sad, isn't it?"

Malik whirled around at the sound of the voice, jerking backwards and expecting to have been caught, but only finding a man smiling at him sadly. The man was dressed in a barely-passable, somewhat dirty casual suit and a long, green cape. His gray hair hung greasy and limp around his face and his eyes looked sunken and worn.

"What is?" Malik ventured hesitantly, glancing back up at the statue.

When he glanced back at the man, he caught a shadow passing over his face. "This statue makes me only think of the many losses suffered in this second war. It makes me fear for the future."

Malik opened his mouth to say something, perhaps divert the conversation, but the man turned to him and proffered his hand. "Amos Diggory," the man greeted.

"M…" Malik grimaced. "M…arcus…Marcus Finch," he said, cursing himself for having forgotten his own faux-name. Draco had come up with it. Malik hadn't argued – it sounded British enough.

"Are you with the Ministry? I can't recall having seen you before." Amos seemed to ponder that for a moment, before he chuckled and shrugged. "Yet, I suppose there are enough of us that I may be a stranger to many folk."

"I'm relatively new," Malik said, hoping that this wouldn't turn into some kind of Inquisition. He didn't have time for that.

"What Department, if you don't mind my asking?"

Malik looked appropriately embarrassed. "I worked under" – _Oh, damn, what was her name again? _–"Um…Dolores Umbridge…but am currently being reassigned due to a personal conflict..."

Amos didn't seem surprised. Well, if that wasn't a positive check to this woman's clearly winning personality, then nothing was.

"You weren't accused as a Muggle Born, were you?" Amos asked concernedly, turning and sitting on the rim of the statue's fountain base. From the apparent severity of that particular accusation – Draco had given them a run-down – Amos Diggory seemed rather detached.

Malik hesitated for a moment, but the man gestured to the space beside him.

Malik took the motion as an invitation and sat also. "No, I wasn't."

He wasn't entirely certain, still, what the significance of having non-magical parents was, but apparently it was some kind of moral obligation of the Death Eaters to remove such folk from the wizard community.

"Good," Diggory said with finality. Malik figured that there would be no further discussion of this particular – and clearly sensitive – topic. "You seem like a nice boy," was all that he clarified.

Clearly, being accused of non-magical ancestry seemed to suck for "nice boys" like himself. Malik couldn't recall the last time he'd been genuinely referred to as a "nice" anything.

The two – both strangers, yet neither prepared to leave – sat together in silence. Malik found himself following the crowds, all of the strangely-dressed men and women who didn't look like the victims of a war. Malik knew better; he knew better from personal experience, of course, but that didn't change how…normal this seemed. All things considered.

Malik cleared his throat, about to make some sort of excuse about where he had to be, but Amos Diggory beat him to the punch.

"You were looking terribly forlorn, before I interrupted your thinking," the older man commented, offering Malik a sympathetic smile. "Have you lost a loved one, Mister Finch?"

_Blunt, aren't you?_ Malik thought wryly.

It _was_ an awfully personal question to ask someone you'd only just introduced yourself to, but Malik had to think for a moment that, perhaps, these people had been cultured to loss. They probably found friendship in the common factor of death. It was morbid, but it seemed to have rung true to almost every one of these wizards he'd met.

Malik grimaced. "My best friend's father was just recently…lost."

Amos Diggory nodded grimly. "Ah. Such a fate, to lose a father…I couldn't imagine. My condolences to your friend."

"I'll…pass it on," Malik said, giving the man a thankful nod. Not that he would actually be passing it on. He wasn't even going to think about talking to Ryou about his father. Ryou could broach that subject at his own pace.

"I lost my son," the man continued, his expression turning tragic and lost. Very suddenly, Malik realized that this man was an example of someone caught in the middle of this. He wasn't (as far as Malik could tell), an active resistor. Nor, clearly, was this man a Death Eater. His only tether to this war was what it'd taken from him.

And with that realization, Malik felt a small sense of kinship with this man he didn't know.

The thought passed quickly, however, with the dark realization that Malik was getting decidedly soft. It was followed by the admonishment that he ought not to be throwing kinship around like it was something he could afford to give freely.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Malik said, and he felt the sympathy drain from himself as the words left his lips. His expression smoothed. His stomach steeled. Darkness coiled within him like a snake preparing to strike.

This man was not important to the mission. This man was an expected loss in war. There was always loss in war. You couldn't go around pitying everyone who suffered. That would be more pity than any one man could manage.

_And I thought I was a changed man, _Malik thought with some cynical amusement. _Jeez, I'm getting less human by the second._

His stomach lurched, and Malik groaned, grabbing his abdomen. Sick. He was still sick. He glanced around, eventually spotting some kind of bathroom locale, and made haste.

"I have to go," Malik said quickly, and before Amos Diggory could have even comprehended the words, Malik was off through the crowd, moving as fast as he could without drawing attention.

He had to fight off five or six other wizards waiting in line – pushing past them and muttering apologies he didn't really mean – and threw himself into a stall. He proceeded to empty the contents of his stomach into the bowl, gripping the rim of the porcelain surface with vigor he didn't know he had.

The spasms made his wound flare hot with pain, and he found himself even sicker because of it. Cursing his foul luck, Malik took deep breaths and willed for the sickness – this sickness that was going to jeopardize his part in this mission – to vanish.

As if answering his prayer, the wave of sickness passed. He waited a few moments, breathing into the stall. The men outside were silent, clearly concerned but not about to invade his privacy.

And here he'd been thinking that wizards were frustratingly nosy.

Malik stood shakily, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and watched as the toilet flushed itself. Magic – inventing things that "muggles" had already invented with technology.

He stormed out of the stall, ignoring the looks of the other men he'd pushed around on his way in.

What was going on? Malik hadn't ever been prone to this much sickness in his life. It was conducive with…

…but no. That was impossible. That ship had sailed long before Malik had ever been willing to explore it. He wasn't going there. It would only bother him about things he didn't have the time to worry about.

He reached for the faucet and turned it on, washing his hands and then splashing some cold water on his face.

"Ill?" one asked, an older man with a friendly face. Malik caught his gaze in the mirror.

"Hexed," Malik responded immediately, glancing into his own reflection with pride at his quick-thinking. He caught the gaze of another man in the reflective surface, a man with a sharp face and even sharper eyes.

"Vomiting Hex, clearly," the second man, the harsh one, said. "How juvenile of your assailant. Who was it?"

"Old friend. He turned out to be" – what was the word again? – "muggle-born. We fought. It ended badly. He decided to be a dick about it."

The first man winced at Malik's foul language, while the second's expression twisted into one of the nastiest, most hateful sneers he'd ever seen. And he'd seen a lot of those.

"Mudbloods," he spat, saying the term as if it were a curse. "They belong in cages, all of them. Just like the animals they are."

"Now, now, Runcorn," the first man said with a somewhat mocking wave, "you're only angry because that Potter boy impersonated you and wreaked havoc."

Malik's ears perked. Potter? "Harry Potter?" Malik asked aloud.

Both men looked surprised at Malik's question. Malik cursed in his head – wasn't this a big reason why they'd eventually decided to come? It'd been all over the wizard news that Potter and his friends had invaded the Ministry.

"…That was you?" Malik finished, hoping that the paltry add-on served as a decoy from his clear folly.

The second man – Runcorn – scowled angrily. "Yes," he snapped, "it was me. I tended to keep out of this whole affair until that Potter boy pulled that stunt. Now I reckon he deserves what's coming to him."

The first man turned his back on the second and rolled his eyes. Malik caught the gesture, and the man saw that, so he winked at him. Malik felt a small grin tug at his lips.

Runcorn was clearly riled, by this point. "So if you're smart, take my advice: have that friend of yours turned in for attacking you. He'll get what's coming to him, just like that Potter boy will."

Malik hesitated, disgust roiling, but he pushed his emotion back and nodded. "I'll…think about it."

"Don't think," Runcorn snapped. "If their kind were meant to be amongst us, they wouldn't cause so much trouble."

Yes, Malik thought, trouble that was only in response to the clear discrimination against them. Malik couldn't make himself blame any of them, not even his imaginary muggle-born friend.

"Wait a second," Runcorn said.

Malik turned. "What?"

"Are you…wearing make-up?" Runcorn asked. He seemed to squint, then his eyes widened. "You are. Why? _Why_ are you wearing make-up? Who the hell are you?"

Malik's heart just about stopped.

He'd completely forgotten that he'd been wearing make-up to lighten his skin. Then he'd gone and splashed water all over it.

_Well, shit._

Perhaps it wasn't one of his best-constructed plans, but Malik panicked. A little bit.

Okay, a lot-a bit.

He didn't make excuses, he didn't try to save the situation, he didn't even dispose of the small gathering of wizards in that lavatory for fear that the Ministry's magic would interfere with his own. So, instead, he ran for it.

And that was about the point he screwed things rather spectacularly for them all.

* * *

"What did you say your name was, again?" the woman asked, her nose appearing rather like a pig's with the way she scrunched it up and peered at Draco down its length.

"Percy Pengleton," Draco reminded her, about ready to knock the woman about the head if she asked his name one more time.

"And you're here to see a man of the same given name but surname Weasley, correct?" she queried in nasal tones.

Draco sighed quietly. "Yes, mum," he murmured, embarrassed at the terminology and feeling rather beneath himself. Well, desperate times, and all that. Didn't mean he was happy about it.

"And where, exactly," the woman pressed, brushing invisible dirt from her rather dowdy blazer as she'd been doing the entire time, "did you say you were employed?"

"New worker, mum," Draco said, hoping that he sounded a lot less pathetic than he felt. He could feel Granger and Weasley laughing at him, mocking him and his degradation. He would not be happy to find the lot of them when they were through with all of this.

The woman looked unconvinced, so he pressed on with the passable nonsense they'd come up with before they started. "Was referred by my dad, y'see," he said, "before he…er…_retired_ to work somewhere _else_." The woman's eyes bugged a bit at the hint. "Retired" to another job either meant that someone had been killed or was a Death Eater. Draco would leave that to her imagination. "Then I got referred to a Percy Weasley. Apparently he's got some connections, Dad said, and I was supposed to go to him for my placement."

Draco was not a natural-born actor. This was just laying it on a little thick.

"Weasley, hm?" she asked to herself, tapping her chin from which a few bristly hairs protruded. After a moment, she cast her sharp eyes at him, still glaring down the length of her nose. "I'd say be careful about which Weasley you want to see, because the boy's father's a blood traitor and affiliating with him with leave you in trouble."

"I know," Malfoy ground out. The irritation was starting to seep through his façade. He tried to rein it in, but this woman was testing patience that Draco didn't have. "Arthur Weasley went into hiding," he snapped, "I'm looking for his son. The one he is estranged from, the one who still functions in the Ministry. _Percy Weasley_."

He wasn't looking for any Weasleys in hiding; Draco was looking for Percy because he knew that Percy would have some information. He had to. Percy may have been relatively "estranged" from his family, but that didn't mean that he wasn't aware of where his family had fled to safety. After all, the Weasleys were a tight-knit bunch. If Percy had to flee, then they'd want him to know where to flee to.

At least, that was what he hoped was their rationale. If not, then his biggest-possible lead was screwed to Hell and back.

"From what I know, if you go past the Department of Mysteries – you _do _know where that is, don't you?" she chuckled as if she had said something incredibly funny "– then you should find him in a court session."

"Court-?" Draco stopped himself a second later as realization sunk in. They were still doing muggle-born and blood traitor trials. He'd thought they might have ended after Potter and his friends infiltrated one disguised as workers. He'd figured they'd become more private. Clearly, they weren't.

Well, it just went to show how confident the Dark Lord and his followers were feeling, these days. Not that it was incredibly unwarranted – they _did_ have the upper hand.

"Yes," the woman said, as if he were a complete idiot, "in the _court_. Wait outside and you might be able to catch him. Try not to interfere with Ministry work for too long, boy."

"I won't," he assured her, hurrying off as quickly as he could towards a part of the Ministry he knew a little too well.

He weaved through the crowd, keeping his head down and hoping that no one who knew his family would be able to get a good enough look at his face. Changed colouring aside, Draco had a rather distinctive face. He would have preferred them to have found Polyjuice ingredients, but that would have taken far, far too long. The potion wasn't one of the quickest-making potions, and time was one thing they didn't have much of to spare.

At this point, Draco just had to pray that no one was searching for him, a traitor, in the Ministry of Magic. He had to rely on the fact that they wouldn't expect this.

Given that Potter had done the same thing, though – and Draco loathed the idea that they were following the stupid Gryffindor's ideas – he wouldn't be surprised if they did get caught. "Chosen One" or not, Potter and his stupid friends had an irritating tendency of ruining things for everyone else.

He tore his way across the main floor and towards the elevators, pushing and shoving amongst the masses but trying not to look like he was in too much of a hurry. He didn't want to appear as suspicious as he actually _was_.

It took a ridiculously long time to get through the crowd and into one of the elevators. He squished between two larger men and opened his mouth to suggest "Department of Mysteries" – the court was just past, after all – but apparently this elevator was already headed that way, because it declared: "_Department of Mysteries_" in a pleasant female voice before the elevator shot backwards.

Draco would never get used to the Ministry elevators. He grabbed up, catching one of the handles to steady himself, just before he was thrown face-first to the floor.

After a few more chaotic twists and turns, the elevator came to an abrupt halt, declaring their stop once more. The doors opened, and all three of them stepped out and Draco made a beeline for the doors of the court.

He rounded the corner, and men and women were already spilling out, many of them dressed in the jury robes. He scrambled against the wall, searching for some sign of obnoxious red hair. If Percy Weasley wasn't here, he was going to go back up to the main floor and hex that frustrating woman into the ground.

The courtroom emptied, and Draco still hadn't seen a sign of red. Damn. Either he'd missed him entirely, or he'd been misled. Frustrated, Draco approached the doorway as the last stragglers spilled out.

And then he got some luck.

Percy Weasley was standing in the first viewer row, looking over a small stack of papers and appearing rather flustered. Draco glanced around. Empty. He was the last person here.

Draco quietly shut the door behind him, waving his wand behind his back to lock it. There was one nice thing about these dungeon-like courtrooms: they had only one door.

The movement still alerted the Weasley, whose head snapped up and eyes focused sharply on Draco with an expression of acute awareness.

"Why did you just lock that door?" he demanded, reaching his hand into his suit pocket for what could only be his wand.

Draco held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, making sure that his wand was in clear view. "I just need to speak with you," he said.

Percy thrust out his wand, pointing it at Draco. "Who sent you?"

"Listen, I-"

"You've locked me in a courtroom and you're armed," Percy snapped, and Draco could now clearly see his bloodshot eyes and atypically unkempt appearance. "Why did you lock that door? Who sent you?" he repeated.

"I wasn't sent by anyone, I-"

"-Just decided to trap me," Percy hissed. _"Expelliarmus," _he said, and the spell hit Draco's wrist painfully, wrenching the wand out of his hand. He watched it clatter to the floor, mourning the temporary loss of protection. Percy's eyes also followed the wand, but he had quickly regained his composure and had Malfoy at wand-point once more.

Draco kept his hands in the air. "Please, just listen to me-"

"_Who_ sent you? Did the Death Eaters send you?" Percy shouted.

"No-"

"Don't _lie_ to me!" Percy warned, his voice raising. If this got any louder, someone was bound to hear them. Then this whole thing would be cooked.

"Listen," Draco said, trying to calm his own voice and hoping that Percy would do the same (unlikely, since Weasleys seemed to have a horrible knack for ignoring behavioural norms).

"_Who sent you_?" Percy yelled, taking a threatening step forward.

"_I _sent _myself_!" Draco bellowed, and the force of his own shout took Percy aback. The red-haired male quite nearly dropped his wand in surprise. They stared at each other for a single moment, all motion suspended as if time had stopped. "I sent myself," Draco repeated in even tones.

Percy got over his shock quickly enough, straightening his arm back so that he wand was again pointed at Draco. "Who are you, then?"

Draco opened his mouth, then closed it again. He averted his eyes. "I'm looking for Harry Potter. I think that myself and my…allies can help him."

Percy's expression turned strained. "I can't help you. I'm not affiliated with any resistance efforts. What my family does is no business of mine."

"May I retrieve my wand?"

"Bu-what?" Percy's eyes narrowed, suspicion returning instantly with Draco's suggestion. "Why?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Because," he drawled, "I feel a tad naked without it." He cast the Weasley a nasty look. "I'm not going to hex you."

Percy's mouth opened and closed silently a few times before recognition dawned on his face. Oh, perfect. "D-Draco Malfoy…?"

Damn. Damn, damn, damn. Weasley had no information _and_ he'd been found out. Perfect. Things could only get much _better._

And he doubted that the other two were having much better luck. This was more Draco's show than anything. This was his territory. They were depending on him, and he'd mucked things up right perfectly.

He made a dash for his wand, fumbling it up into his grip somehow and then pointing it at Percy. The man still looked a bit surprised by his revelation, staring at Draco with new eyes.

"Now see here," Draco sneered, "I'm not very practiced at this whole 'good guy' nonsense. So either you help me, or I _obliviate_ your memory. I can't have you putting this whole thing in jeopardy."

Percy's face smoothed. "I'd heard you had gone and betrayed your family. Takes guts." His face screwed up as if he were seeing something ironic in that statement. It looked like he felt a bit sick, actually.

"Choose," Draco urged. "I don't have time for philosophising with a _Weasley._"

"I thought you weren't going to hex me," Percy countered in a dry tone, not looking the least bit intimidated. That just made Draco _mad_.

"You screw with me, Weasley," Draco warned, "and I'll do worse by you than any Death Eater could."

"I don't know where my family is," Percy snapped. "Let alone where my brother and his friends are. Happy?"

The worst part was that he looked genuine about it. Draco couldn't see a hint of a lie in his voice. That just made the panic start to set in.

"You haven't got a clue?" he guffawed, lowering his wand.

Percy sighed, depositing his wand back into his coat pocket. "No. I don't." He made his way towards the door, since Draco's lunge for his wand had effectively removed him from the path. "You have a lot of nerve showing up in the Ministry, of all places. I won't rat you out. Get your friends, whoever they are, and get out of here."

He wasn't sure if that was meant as an order or a warning.

"Wait," Draco said, and Percy did stop, turning ever-so-slightly to glance over his shoulder in Draco's direction. "Please," he begged, feeling uncharacteristic and stupid, "you have to know _something_."

Percy's lips thinned, something passing over his eyes. In that moment, Draco realized that Percy did know something. Maybe it wasn't necessarily the right something, but he _knew something_. He just wasn't about to tell the son of a Death Eater, a marked Death Eater himself had he not betrayed them, the whereabouts of his family.

"I don't know anything," he reiterated coolly.

Draco snarled under his breath.

"I know what you've become," Percy said, turning to face Draco with an expression flat as slate. "You've become a bane to the Death Eaters, a loose end to You-Know-Who. You're dangerous. You'll only impair whatever Potter, Granger, and my brother are trying to accomplish."

"Shouldn't that suggest I want to _help _them?" Draco snapped.

Percy chuckled. "No. It suggests that you could ruin everything just by your presence. I hear you're travelling with those two ex-guards they set up in Hogwarts – the ones everyone says have strange magic. Do you fancy associating yourself with traitors?" the words came with little malice.

"I seem to be currently associating with one, yes," Draco spat. Percy winced, but the smile didn't fade. Clearly, he was expecting that blow to come.

"I admire that you've had an apparent change of heart," Percy said honestly, "but don't think that I'll trust you. I know you. I know your family. I may no longer be affiliated with _my_ family, but that does not mean that I'll sell them out to the son of a Death Eater."

"Leave my family out of it," Draco hissed, then added in a mocking tone: "I am no longer affiliated with them."

"All well and good," Percy said airily, ignoring Draco's jibe, "but I still don't trust you."

A siren suddenly sounded, and there was shouting in the hallway. Draco and Percy's heads both snapped up in shock and then to each other, their eyes locking.

"One of your friends has been caught," Percy inferred matter-of-factly. "What a pleasant _ surprise_."

"Looks like," Draco choked, his stomach dropping down through his toes. He turned to the door.

"_Alohamora!"_ he declared, pointing his wand at the doors. They exploded open immediately, and Draco stumbled backwards, prepared for a fight.

_I knew this was a bad idea, _his mind screamed, running in circles he couldn't make sense of. He could almost feel himself beginning to shut-down, accept defeat – he was _so screwed_…

"Draco!"

Both Draco and Percy reacted to that one. It was his real name, not the nonsense guise he'd come up with.

A figure rounded the corner, running fast. Draco raised his wand-

But there in the doorway stood Ryou – Draco had to double-take because of the hair - and not a Death Eater. And Ryou was looking wide-eyed, nauseous, and prepared for battle all at the same time.

"Bloody _fucking_ Malik! It was him, wasn't it?" Draco roared, drawing a shocked look from Percy and an anxious, slightly mollified grimace – an affirmative if there ever was one – from Ryou.

Percy jumped into action first. "Well, what are you two going to do about this?" he demanded, panic seeping into the young Ministry official's voice.

"We have to get out of here," Ryou said.

"We should have never _god-damn_ come in the first place!" Draco shouted.

"This is getting us nowhere!" Percy yelled, successfully silencing both of them before either could follow-up Draco's retort.

"_Us"._ Through his panic and confusion, Draco kind of liked the sound of that, if it implied what he hoped it implied.

"Follow me!" Percy said, making a dash to the door. Ryou and Draco followed, hot on the Weasley's heels.

Draco just hoped that Percy wasn't going to lead them into a trap. He had to trust that that good old Weasley tendency to be traitors to the Dark Lord ran in the _entire_ family.

_After all, _he thought wryly, _we could use a little god-damn luck._

End Chapter

I actually hadn't expected so many Harry Potter characters from the Ministry of Magic to end up in this story. I'd been, of course, expecting Umbridge and Thicknesse, but somehow Amos Diggory and Runcorn ended up barreling in there. Jeez.

...I told you guys "shit's going down this chapter". There was such a significant span of nothingness (a.k.a. a bad case of foreshadowing taking over whole chapters because Malik, Ryou, and Draco just never shut up, sometimes) that action just demanded to be present.

T'was fun, and I'll try my best to update ASAP. Reading week is coming up (which shall, rather, be more of a "writing" week for me)! So excited for a break!

OoCA


	9. Schism

Thanks to those who read, and an even bigger thanks to the people who reviewed! I really appreciate the feedback and love to hear your thoughts.

Here's chapter nine! I hope it's action-packed enough for you.

Chapter Nine

Schism

Malik raced through the crowd as fast as he could. He was drawing attention, but he figured that raising a few eyebrows was the lesser of two evils – the bigger issue being that whole problem of getting caught.

He weaved around, searching wildly. Earlier, he thought he'd seen Ryou get into an elevator.

_But where did he go?_ Malik didn't know a thing about how many floors or locations this weird Ministry of Magic may have had. Getting lost was synonymous with getting _dead_ fast.

He managed to make his way to an elevator before anyone had seemed to have been notified about him.

"Nice to see you again, M…arcus."

"_Department of Mysteries."_

Malik whirled, and Amos Diggory was standing there in the elevator with him, a grim expression on his face.

"What are you doing?" Malik asked. If there was a response he didn't hear it, because the elevator suddenly shot backwards (why backwards?) and down.

Suddenly it stopped, and the doors opened to an empty hall.

"I'm helping you," Amos Diggory said simply, and gestured forward. "Now, come."

They ran out into the hall, Malik following Diggory like some kind of aimless puppy. He hated depending on people. He hated not knowing if this was going to end up getting him captured by Death Eaters. He hated not knowing where Ryou and Malfoy were.

He just had to trust that they could take care of themselves.

Amos Diggory led him through a strange, dark hallway. They were slow at first, keeping to the walls and hoping that the area was relatively deserted. It was – for now, at least. When they took off running again, Malik couldn't help but note the eerie way that their shadows played along the stone in the green lighting.

The colour that was cast along the walls made him think of the spell that had wounded him.

"We're in the Department of Mysteries," Amos informed him breathlessly. He was clearly a man unused to running from things. Definitely not someone fit for Malik's current line of work.

"Draco mentioned it," Malik said with a nod, throwing all codename caution to the wind and biting defeat – there was no use in pretending, anymore. Amos clearly knew who they were.

"They hold the trials just past here," Amos acknowledged, wrenching open a rather large door that led into a very strange place. "And it's rather deserted, so it makes a hiding place."

Malik's jaw dropped in shocked fascination.

This place was, in no uncertain terms, a mess. It was an enormous junkyard of shattered glass and ruined shelving, all piled atop one another in a disturbingly interesting heap.

"Harry Potter and his friends," Amos explained, "fought the Dark Lord here two years ago. This was the battle that precipitated the Ministry's acknowledgement of the Dark Lord's return."

"Which was also about the point when he infiltrated it," Malik inferred. "Am I right?"

Amos grimaced, sadness passing over his face. "Indeed, you are." He snapped out of his reverie quickly, grabbing Malik by the wrist and hauling him off to the side. "Let's go. Through here – I doubt they'll come for us here. We can wait out until the search is called off and then the three of you can be apparated away."

Malik let the man drag him towards another doorway. He still didn't understand why this wizard was helping him – he owed him nothing. Malik didn't believe in altruism. There had to be something behind this. Was Amos more involved in this Order of the Phoenix resistance force than Malik had originally believed?

Then again: he didn't know what to believe about these wizards, anymore. Had he ever?

They exploded through the door, and Malik's stomach dropped through his toes when he realized that there was no floor to greet them. He flailed wildly as he plummeted to the ground, preparing for an agonizing, most-likely debilitating landing-

-But his body stopped inches from the floor, suspended there for a few seconds, before he dropped firmly to the ground on his hands and knees. Amos was already stumbling up to his feet, reaching to help Malik up.

Malik was barely onto his knees when he had to wrench Amos back to the ground as a spell whizzed over their heads. He coiled, ready to fight, the only thought in his mind being: _Well, it clearly wasn't the hiding place we thought it'd be_.

Until a familiar voice rang out: "Malik!"

Malik saw Ryou push past an unfamiliar red-haired man and run towards them, stopping in front of Malik to help him up.

"Mr. Diggory!" the stranger exclaimed in surprise, replacing his wand into his coat pocket and rushing to the other man's aid, offering to help Amos to his feet.

Malik stood, brushing dirt from his clothes. When he ran his sleeve across his forehead, more make-up came off. He scowled at the stain.

"Got yourself caught, eh?"

Malik turned his scowl upwards to where Draco was smirking, arms crossed, opposite to him. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"Malik," Ryou said, "this is Percy Weasley. He…helped us get here."

"Older brother of the ginger kid running around with the notorious Harry Potter, I assume," Malik commented, before offering Percy his hand. "Malik Ishtar."

Percy took his hand and shook it. "Pleasure," he greeted, though Malik wasn't entirely certain if he meant it, with that frown on his face.

"My turn to introduce a helper, then," Malik said. "This is-"

"-Amos Diggory," Draco interrupted, "the father of Cedric, the Hufflepuff who was killed by the Dark Lord during the Triwizard Tournament three years ago. I remember you."

Amos' face turned grim. "I also remember you, Draco Malfoy, regardless of your colouring changes. Your father is a Death Eater…" his expression went from grim to almost hateful in a second, "…and you were also partially responsible for the murder of Albus Dumbledore."

Draco looked stricken, and both Ryou and Malik turned to face him with expressions of surprise.

"You helped kill Hogwarts' last headmaster?" Ryou asked quietly.

Draco's stricken expression went pained, then stony, then wry. "It was my initiation as a Death Eater. The Dark Lord instructed that that be the only way he allowed me to serve alongside my father."

Draco looked as if he were expecting a lashing. Instead, Malik clapped a hand onto the blonde-turned-brunette's shoulder in silence.

Draco met Malik's eyes, seeing a certain sympathy there that made the wizard realize: these two were, in more ways than he'd initially thought, just like him. They had made bad decisions in their pasts - or in Ryou's case, forced into bad situations - and they _knew how he felt._ They knew what it felt like to be demonized even while trying to right their wrongs.

And if the pitying expression on Percy's face was any indication, he felt something similar.

"I'm sorry," Malfoy choked, the words fighting through all of his pride and denial, through his façade, and out his mouth. "I apologize for the decision I made to be there. I should have stopped it before Professor Snape had to make the decision for me." He raised his head to Amos, locking eyes. "I won't apologize, however, for choosing to be here, now. You'll just have to deal with that."

"I don't think we have time for revelations," Malik said before Amos could make any sort of response. "We need to get out of here."

"We can apparate you out," Percy said. "A common place, perhaps…"

"We'd all have to know the place," Amos said, "in our mind's eye."

"Of course," Draco muttered, crossing his arms. "This is futile. If you two come with us, you'll become accomplices. You'll be targeted."

"They saw me," Amos said. When he made eye contact with Draco, the gaze lingered with a strange air of forgiveness. He offered the teen a tentative, very tired smile.

"So you're already implicated," Percy said. He paused, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. Then, after a moment of rather tense silence, he straightened. "I don't have a choice. I have to get you to Shell Cottage."

_Shell Cottage…?_

Draco's eyes widened. "You're helping us," he said. It wasn't a question: it was a breathless statement of fact.

He couldn't quite believe it.

Percy looked a bit like he couldn't quite believe it, either. "Yes," he said after a moment.

"The hell is that thing?"

Ryou turned around, following Malik's line of sight. In the centre of the room was a huge, stone arch. A translucent curtain billowed inside the arch, even though there was no wind in the room to move it.

"It's been here the entire time," Ryou murmured, almost as if he wasn't entirely sure if he was asking or stating a fact.

Percy looked grimly backwards. "Stay away from it," he warned. "We don't know where one goes when they pass through the curtain – but we think it's…to the other side."

"Other…?" Malik narrowed his eyes at it. "You mean the Afterlife?"

Percy nodded. "A friend of my family's, a man named Sirius, went through that curtain two years ago. He's gone."

Ryou stared at the curtain, walking towards it and stopping a few metres away. "Strange…" he murmured, his hand winding into his shirt, just above his heart.

Malik glanced towards his friend. He knew what Ryou meant with that look – there _was_ something off-putting about the curtain. It was something that seemed almost familiar. He really didn't like the way that Ryou was still edging towards it, though. If someone passed through it and _died_, then Ryou really needed to move backwards before Malik dragged him back by his hair.

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Wait. Sirius _Black_?" he guffawed. "That man was a _criminal_ and a _murderer_. You were _harboring him_?"

Percy looked shocked for a moment before his expression faded into one of understanding. "You know Wormtail, don't you? Doesn't your family know the story?"

"I know that he's alive, but…" Draco's expression morphed into a very dark scowl. "Clearly I was misled. Was he innocent? Just out of curiosity, of course."

Percy's lips thinned. "My family thought so. I still feel that…he was a criminal. He did things the wrong way." Percy lifted his eyes, and there was wisdom there. "But don't we all?"

Draco chuckled under his breath.

Percy snapped out of his philosophical reverie and pulled his wand from his coat pocket. "Okay, that's enough of that. We can work out the discrepancies in our various opinions at a later date. We have to go _now_."

"Pity you're not _actually_ leaving, then."

All of them spun to the door from which Malik and Amos had come. In that doorway stood Bellatrix Lestrange in all of her wild-eyed, wild-haired, crazy-grin glory. She was enveloped in a cloud of darkness that shot down to the floor, where she reappeared at their level, wand in hand.

"It appears that silly little Draco is inspiring would-be traitors everywhere," Bellatrix sneered, opening her arms in a gesture that mocked him. "You're growing disgustingly similar to the Potter boy."

Draco snarled something nasty under his breath, clenching his fists. When Percy raised his arm, Bellatrix pointed her own weapon his way.

"Ah, ah," she said. "I'm not in a particularly fun mood right now, dear, so I'd suggest not pulling your wand on a lady. I'm a bit of a stickler for _manners._"

"_What_ manners, you crazy bitch?" Malik snapped.

Bellatrix turned her eyes onto the Egyptian. "Little Hermione Granger learned her place as she screamed underneath me. _Mudbloods _and _muggles_ like you should keep silent."

Draco's eyes widened. Granger? When had Bellatrix had a run-in with Granger?

Percy's eyes steeled. "I suppose that means we should assume that they've been captured." He turned his gaze to Malik, Ryou, and Draco. "That's it, then."

But Draco was watching Bellatrix.

"Yes, we have them," she cackled, but a shadow passed over her eyes. Draco caught it. If there was one thing that he knew about Bellatrix Lestrange it was that her true feelings always showed in her eyes. She was crazy and sadistic, for sure, but she always expressed with her eyes. What came out of her mouth and showed on her face was usually a lie, but her eyes seemed to betray the truth.

Draco smiled. "She's lying," he declared.

Bellatrix's eyes widened.

_Bingo_.

In that moment, three more dark shadows appeared beside her, revealing men dressed in black cloaks and skeletal masks. The Death Eaters.

Bellatrix's expression instantly changed from psychotic glee to murderous rage. "Lies are subjective, little Draco. Death Eaters! We take Lucius' boy and the ex-slaves alive! _Crucio!_"

The spell hit Amos Diggory before the man could even as much as twitch. He screamed in pain, dropping to the ground and curling in on himself.

"_Expelliarmus!"_ Percy shouted, knocking Bellatrix's wand from her hand. She shrieked wordlessly in response, scrambling for her weapon. It sparked the battle, kicking Bellatrix's cronies into action.

Two of the men vanished into the blackness again, reappearing in other places. One immediately engaged in battle with Draco, the other shot spells at Ryou. Malik ran towards his comrade, hand over his throbbing stomach, and hoped that he could do something to help. He didn't trust his Shadow Magic right now – not with all of the other magic coursing through his wound.

"You belong in the ground, you traitor!" Bellatrix screamed, diving for her wand. She caught it just as Draco's spell – cast from the opposite direction - flew past her. She stumbled to her feet and whirled toward Percy. _"Crucio!"_

"_Protego!"_ Percy roared, a translucent shield appearing in the path of the spell, and the red beam ricocheted off into the far wall.

Amos Diggory tried to struggle to his feet, but was clearly out of the fight. His arms shook as he pushed onto his knees, sweat dripping down his face.

Malik reached down to his deck to help, to do something, but another Death Eater threw a curse at him and he dropped, rolling awkwardly towards the steps leading up to the arch.

Malik caught a glimpse of Ryou, who was on the platform with a card in his hand. One of the Death Eaters squared off with Ryou, raising his wand as Ryou summoned his monster, a beam of light extending from the card as Ryou's _Patrician of Darkness_ appeared in front of him.

The Death Eater cast the killing curse at Ryou's monster. Ryou's face didn't even twitch as he raised his arm – the _Patrician of Darkness' _arm rising in the same gesture, being Ryou's servile puppet – and the _Patrician _caught the spell. Ryou threw his arm outwards toward the Death Eater that was approaching Malik, and the spell shot out of the _Patrician's_ hand and hit the man in the side, knocking him dead to the floor.

Ryou's _Patrician of Darkness_ flickered in-and-out visibility for a moment. Ryou looked nervous before he closed his eyes and pointed the card at the monster again. Malik could feel the Shadow Magic radiating through him, and, strangely, the arch in the centre of the room's "aura" seemed to react along with him. Ryou opened his eyes again, brown swirling with a reddish hue. The _Patrician_'_s_ form returned to being fully corporeal, and it shuddered visibly with the power Ryou had channeled into it.

Malik stumbled up to his feet. That was not a good sign. Either they were having some serious trouble still using their magic – which seemed the most likely scenario – or there was that dangerous possibility that Ryou was losing control of his Shadow Magic.

With the issues he'd seen going on between Bakura, Ryou, and their struggle to maintain equilibrium between them, he didn't want to imagine the possibility that things were getting worse.

The Death Eater cast the killing curse again at Ryou – because these guys didn't seem to ever learn – and Ryou deflected it back at him, effectively silencing a second man for the day. The _Patrician of Darkness_ turned to Ryou, its eye wide and surprised, before it exploded into shadow and disappeared completely.

Malik ran towards Ryou, who looked decidedly more haggard than he had before he'd summoned the monster. He swayed a bit on his feet, but Malik clapped a hand hard onto his shoulder and steadied the both of them.

"What happened?" Malik panted to Ryou, staring at Percy locked in combat with Bellatrix as Draco fought off the last Death Eater. "I thought we were kill-on-command."

Ryou swallowed, eyes rolling a bit, before he regained his composure. Malik saw that he still looked sickly, still looked like there was something _wrong_, but grilling him about that could wait. At the time, they had a whole lot more to worry about.

There was a shout as Percy fell, hit by the torture curse, and writhed on the ground, his wand clattering to the ground a few of inches away from him.

More Death Eaters appeared in that instant, at least five of them, and the men circled the three.

"_Petrificus Totalus!"_ One shouted, and Draco immediately froze, his body rigidly falling to hit the ground with a sharp crack.

Malik made to grab one of his concealed knives, but he felt hands roughly binding his arms behind his back and another hand taking a fistful of hair and forcing him down to his knees. He struggled against the man's strength, catching a glimpse of Ryou in much the same situation. A third man had grabbed Amos, forcing him onto unsteady legs and bringing him towards where they were holding Ryou and Malik.

Bellatrix snapped her wand away from Percy, whose screaming instantly cut off with the removal of the spell. He moaned, but the sound turned into a cry when Bellatrix slammed her boot onto his head, holding him down.

"Did you really think," she asked softly, her voice a hiss as she knelt down, her skirts rustling, and ran her wand along the length of Percy's face, "that you all could manage to escape us for long? Percy Weasley has been under our watch for a _long, long_ time. You could have chosen no worse a confidant."

"Why haven't you killed us, huh?" Malik spat out, catching Bellatrix's attention. He really did want to know. Last they'd heard, or according to Ryou, at least, there'd been a death warrant on their heads. "What changed?"

Bellatrix's lips curled back. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she purred, her voice like velvet.

Ryou's head snapped up and suddenly it was Bakura. "Don't answer a question with a question," he seethed, "it's not good _manners_."

"Oh," Bellatrix sneered, "I'll show you exactly what-"

"Bellatrix!"

All of them whirled at the new voice. Malik's eyes widened. _No way._

Lucius Malfoy stood there, looking especially haggard and unshaven. His eyes were tired, but there was also a fear there, one that magnified the moment he cast eyes on his son. And, very instantly, Malik understood Lucius' presence…because he remembered seeing that look before. He saw it on Rishid the day that Marik overtook him back during Battle City.

"Ah, so Lucius has come to get his son," Bellatrix said, stepping off of Percy. "He ought to get a real spanking for he's done," she sneered, turning her expression to Draco. "You can take him, Lucius. I'll deal with the others."

Percy began reaching for his wand, his hand just out of Bellatrix's sight behind her skirts. Malik glanced up to the Death Eater holding him, but the man hadn't seemed to have noticed anything.

Lucius stepped toward Bellatrix. "You took my wife, Bellatrix," Lucius said, his eyes tight. "I was not going to let you take my son."

Bellatrix had the humanity to look a little hurt by Lucius' statement. "I did not take her," she protested in an even voice. "She took herself. But she won't die, Lucius. The Dark Lord understands the strength of a mother's bond with her child – he will not make that mistake a second time."

"You put too much faith in our Dark Lord," Lucius sneered coldly, making Malik's eyebrows rise. Those were mutinous words coming from the blonde man's mouth. He'd thought Lucius Malfoy was a hard-core supporter. Clearly, Malik had been mistaken.

"And you, Lucius…you have too little," she seethed, her eyes going dark with the force of Lucius' implication.

"…_Rennervate!" _

The spell hit Draco, and the wizard's body instantly sprung back into animation. He rolled onto his stomach and up to his knees, gritting his teeth and hissing through them at the pain from his initial fall that exploded up through his nerves like wildfire.

Bellatrix spun, her skirts flying as she realized where the spell had come from. "You…!" Bellatrix screamed at Percy, who was still on the ground. She raised her wand and he went to cover his face.

"_Petrificus Totalus!" _

The spell shot from Lucius Malfoy's wand and slammed straight into Bellatrix. Her head had snapped toward Lucius the instant the words came from his mouth, and when the spell hit her, her expression was frozen into one of shocked, hateful betrayal. Her body fell backwards, hitting the stone floor with a crack.

All was silent in the large, stone room. The other Death Eaters stared at Lucius with varying sensation of shock, none of them able to comprehend the occurrence with words or action.

So Malik took action for them.

He jerked his head backwards, slamming it into the face of the Death Eater holding him. The man yelped with pain, stumbling backwards and losing grip on Malik as he reached to cover his injured face. Bakura took the cue and turned to the side, slamming the full force of his shoulder into the chest of his captor, knocking the wind out of the man and giving him enough sway to break his arms free and then punch the man hard in the temple. The man dropped like a rock; successfully out-of-commission.

"_Stupefy!" _Percy shouted, hitting the Death Eater holding Amos Diggory. The man's hands snapped away from Diggory's wrists and he stumbled backwards. The moment he hit the ground, Bakura pulled his leg up and slammed the heel of his boot onto the crown of the man's head. Lucius Malfoy winced, clearly recalling experiencing a similar fate at the hands of Malik back at the mansion.

"B-Back off or I'll kill your son, Lucius!" a Death Eater shouted, moving towards Draco.

"_Avada Kedavra,"_ Draco's father hissed, pointing his wand at the Death Eater as Draco was still struggling onto his feet. It hit the man in the chest and knocked him dead to the floor.

Bakura turned on the last man standing, but the Death Eater backed away and vanished, most likely to report to the Dark Lord or one of his other superiors.

Lucius Malfoy stormed towards Draco, his blue dress-cape billowing behind him. He grabbed Draco roughly by the arm and hauled him to his feet before turning to the others.

"Where are you going?" he demanded, glancing around.

Percy managed to get himself onto his feet, brushing the dirt from his own clothes. "Like I plan on selling my family out to _you_, Lucius," he sneered. Clearly, the two of them weren't on great terms.

"Is it safe?" Lucius pressed, and the nature of that question seemed to shock Percy into open-mouthed silence. Frustrated with the lack of response, Lucius shoved Draco forward and toward the rest of them with a look of disgust.

Draco turned back to his father with confusion and shock written all over his face. "Father, what-?" he choked out, his mouth snapping shut and his jaw clenching when he couldn't find the words.

"You have gotten yourself into a mess I cannot fix," Lucius snapped at him, and Draco winced, looking visibly chastised. "So do your mother and I a favour and _don't_ get yourself killed, understood?"

Draco's mouth flapped silently for a few moments, as if he couldn't figure out how to turn his voice back on. Eventually he just settled for whispering: "Mother is still alive?"

"Of course she is," Lucius groused. "Bellatrix may be the Dark Lord's lapdog, but she would not kill her sister." An expression of near-empathy crossed his eyes when he glanced back at the black-haired woman frozen on the ground, her arm still pointed straight up in the air, wand extended.

Draco's body physically sagged with the force of his relief. "Good," was all he managed; though Malik could tell that there was a whole lot more than 'good' swirling in his eyes. The guy looked about moved to tears, if Draco Malfoy even knew how to cry.

"I am going to take Narcissa and the both of us are going into hiding," Lucius informed them. "I would advise, Draco, that you do the same…however I feel that you have grown less attentive to my guidance, these days." His expression turned grim.

Draco looked a bit sheepish. Malik had to wonder where all of his resistance had gone. Back at his mansion, Draco had stood up to his father with strength that had been impressive. Right now, he seemed a bit like a pet that had been caught chewing furniture, or something.

Lucius raised his eyes to Malik and Bakura respectively. "Value his life," he instructed, his voice flat and emotionless. "He is still my son, his betrayal notwithstanding."

Malik liked to think that, in that moment, when he looked right back at Lucius, he could see the real pain of a father letting his son go. He could tell that Lucius wanted the best for Malfoy, even if that "best" was gained through questionable, even immoral, means.

And that, Malik thought, was something he could respect.

Malik nodded to Lucius, who offered a curt tip of his head, blonde spilling over his shoulders. He cast a last sharp glance at Draco, whose head snapped away, before he vanished – apparated away.

Draco gritted his teeth, but there was softness in his eyes. "My mother's alive," he murmured.

Percy glanced to where Bellatrix was still lying frozen. "We have to go," he said, the urgency clear in his tone of voice.

"Can we use our Shadow Magic?" Malik asked Bakura, hoping that Bakura caught the question of: _is your connection to the Shadow Realm still having problems?_

Bakura definitely got the message, if the sharp, single jerk of his head was any indication. "No. Even here, the other magic is too strong for us to chance transporting five people. Someone could get lost in the Shadow Realm – I'd recommend against it."

"We should apparate," Percy said, "but that may prove difficult with our numbers." His brow furrowed, and then he sighed. "I have a port key."

Draco's jaw dropped. "You had a port key to Potter's location this _entire_-?"

"I doubt that Harry is there," Percy snapped. "Hermione and my brother aren't stupid enough to take him somewhere so…familiar."

"To whom?" Draco pressed, an eyebrow raised.

"To my family," Percy answered shortly before casting a very deliberate glance towards the still-frozen Death Eater woman on the floor.

"What's a port key?" Malik asked, frustrated that they had apparently forgotten that neither Malik nor Bakura were wizards.

Percy reached his hand into his pocket, removing an object wrapped gently in cloth. "It's an object – can be anything, really – that is used to transport someone from one location to another. It is our most effective mode of transporting multiple people."

"Is it dangerous?" Bakura queried.

Draco shook his head. "No. They're generally open to public use as long as they're authorized," he glanced at the object still covered in cloth. "However, I am willing to bet that this one is not."

Percy's brows rose. "Of course not," he said, as if it were the clearest fact in the world. He carefully uncovered the object, revealing it to all of them. "Though a port key can be about any object, this one just so happens to actually _be_ a key."

Amos stepped forward. "We should move quickly," he said, sounding wheezy and tired. He seemed to have even developed a slight limp from the agony of his earlier attack.

Percy held the key outward. "We all grab it on three. Ready?"

They all stepped towards him, forming a small circle around Percy's outstretched hand.

"One…two…_three."_

End Chapter


	10. Where the Roads Cross

Whew. University started going nuts, which is why this update took so freaking long. I had it all planned out and ready to go; I just didn't have the time to stick the filling of the chapter into the initial outline.

Thank you for your patience!

There's some unfortunately significant cursing in this chapter (shrugs). Boys will be boys.

Chapter Ten

Where the Roads Cross

Draco's first impression of Bakura and Malik's experience was that they weren't entirely bothered by it. After all, the two of them had withstood apparating, and not being sick on their first time – especially with little-to-no magical experience whatsoever – was a feat in of itself.

His first impression found itself rather splendidly silenced when Malik proceeded to be sick all over the beach that they'd landed on. Bakura – or was it Ryou at the time? – had knelt beside him and murmured something Draco hadn't heard.

Realizing that they were having another one of their moments, those times where they acted more secretive than a couple of schoolgirls, Draco turned to the others.

Percy looked relatively unruffled, as did Amos. Both were fairly learned travellers with portkeys, or so the Weasley had stated as he too watched Malik lose his lunch.

"He's wounded," Draco said in explanation, "so that landing probably didn't do him any favours."

Malik and Bakura had had fairly rough landings. It was expected from first-time travellers when it came to portkeys. Both had landed flat on their stomachs, and Malik had been the first up, his expression screwed up like he was _really_ concentrating on something. Bakura (or had it been Ryou?) also stood, looking surprisingly unbothered, and proceeded to watch as Malik immediately decided to show how _not_ well he'd taken the trip.

"Should we get him inside and patch him up?" Amos asked. "If he reopened something…"

"Probably," Draco agreed, recalling the nasty look of Malik's wound.

He wasn't entirely focused on the nature of Malik's sudden sickness, however. Draco's attention had drifted to their surroundings. They stood on a beach, the water sparkling bluish green in that way that reedy water always seemed to. The sand was dotted with seaweed, but uphill the sand was covered by beach grass that dotted the dunes like yellow pikes. The grass swayed gently in the breeze, giving an appearance of a space that was almost…peaceful.

And, just past the dune, Draco could make out twin stone chimneys and the top of a highly slanted roof. This, Draco assumed, was the safe house Percy had been referring to.

Speaking of, Percy had made himself useful by going to Malik's side and helping Bakura (or Ryou) get Malik onto his feet. The Egyptian teenager was wiping his mouth with his sleeve, scowling at the world like it'd wronged him – which, in a way, it had.

"I should go first," Percy said. "I'm unwelcome to much of my family, but compared to the rest of you – two of which are strangers…"

"Who's out there?"

Percy whirled first, nearly knocking Malik off of his feet. Draco took out his wand in defense. Out from the sand dune, however, came a red-haired man with a scar on his face. If Draco recalled correctly, it was the dragon-tamer son of the Weasley clan.

From behind him came two others, two people he was very familiar with. They were running from the door after Bill, probably after having been told to stay inside but doing their typical "hero" routine and rushing to aid.

"No…" Percy whispered, eyes going wide. Clearly, his initial expectations that Potter and his friends were safely somewhere else had been wrong. Upset followed by frustration followed by resignation crossed over his features. Regardless of what he'd thought, it was clear that he'd _hoped_ Potter and the others had been long, long gone.

Not that Draco was upset with this – he was glad that their search for Potter and his gang had ended. Now, they could get on with carrying out a real attempt at destroying the Dark Lord.

Potter and Weasley certainly looked like they'd seen better days. Of the two, Draco could see more wear in Potter; there was something very haunted about his face, there was gauntness about his cheeks that Draco couldn't remember being there before.

"Bill!" Percy exclaimed breathlessly. His feet shifted back and forth as if he couldn't quite decide if he wanted to run towards his brother or run in the opposite direction.

"Percy?" Bill asked, looking taken aback. The shock only lasted a second before a grin split his face, pulling his scar back in an interesting way.

Ron Weasley came up right behind his older brother, his eyes going wide in a typical show of Weasley dramatization. "Percy?" he also asked. "The bloody hell do you think you're doing here?"

It was a demand so crass that the older Weasley and Potter both winced and looked apologetic in his stead. Typical Weasley…

Percy chuckled awkwardly; looking the least uptight Draco had ever seen the man. He rubbed the back of his neck in a common gesture of unease. "Looks like I've quit my position at the Ministry."

"About damn time," the youngest Weasley present grumbled, casting his friend a sidelong glance. Potter just shook his head in response, trying to keep himself out of the argument.

"Who's with you?" Potter asked, "I don't-"

And that was the point that Potter laid eyes on Draco. It took him a moment to see past the colouring, but the moment his eyes widened, Draco realized that they were in for some trouble.

Especially since in all of the confusion of Bill's appearance followed by two of Draco's school nemeses, Draco had forgotten to put his wand away.

"_-Expelliarmus!" _Harry shouted, and Draco felt his wand fly from his grip. His arm snapped back, his wrist cracking painfully with the force of the spell. Potter took a few dangerous steps forward, wand raised at Draco's face.

Draco backed up, hands in the air.

After Harry's impromptu attack, Ron seemed to clue into the situation. "Malfoy..!" Ron shouted in accusation. Surprisingly, he turned on his brother. "Why did you bring him? Are you trying to get us killed?"

"It would be nice if you listened before shooting off spells," Draco snapped at Potter, and the young man had the decency to look briefly chastised before he went back on the defensive.

"You're the reason that Dumbledore's dead," Harry said coolly, his expression fading into a steely mask. It was like a slap to the face. Amos Diggory's words from earlier rang through his head.

Was this going to be what it was like from now on? Would he have to justify his actions to every single person he came across on the "good side" of this war? What right did they have to demand that from him? He owed them nothing.

The only person he was indebted to was that old windbag of an ex-Headmaster himself. Not that he'd ever admit that aloud.

"Wait, Harry, stop," Percy said, stepping in front of Potter and his wand. "He's…you're missing a whole lot of the story. Please. Just…trust me."

"I don't trust_ him_," Potter stated firmly, his green eyes landing on Draco with a chill that could have made a grown man turn to stone. Draco kept eye contact, hoping that Potter would see some sincerity there.

Not that he especially deserved it – Draco wasn't stupid enough to think that he'd be accepted – but Potter and his gang tended to give more second chances than necessary. Draco was just hoping the three were still soft enough to give one, last chance.

"Wonderful," Percy drawled, before his face turned serious again. "However, I want you to trust _me_. Can you trust _me_?"

Potter looked like he was considering just hexing Draco then and there, but he took one last look at Percy and sighed, dropping his wand arm in resignation. "I trust you," he said finally.

"So who are they, then? Death Eaters…?" Ron demanded, pointing at Malik and who Draco could now tell was definitely Bakura.

"A couple of guys who hate your enemies as much as you do," Malik said quickly, before wincing and letting out a groan. "Now I really wish we hadn't left our stuff, because I can feel myself bleeding through my wrappings."

"This is insane," Harry protested, green eyes flashing with something that could only be utter panic. "We're leaving if he's here. I won't put this in jeopardy for a Death Eater."

"I'm _not-_" Draco made to protest in the midst of retrieving his wand.

"You have the Mark," Harry seethed, his wand back up the moment that Draco's fingers touched the wooden article. "Don't even _try_, Malfoy. I know that you have it."

Draco opened his mouth to retort but, in realizing that Harry was right, his jaw snapped shut tightly and he turned his head away, glaring at the sand. His fingers curled tightly around his wand. This was useless – he was never going to convince them that he was against the Dark Lord.

"We've been putting up with him for _ages_," Bakura said, his voice even and surprisingly calm. Temper or not, Bakura was too old to be stupid enough to let hotheadedness mess up something this important. "He's never used it."

Draco's head swiveled to Bakura. "You _knew?_"

"Of course we knew," Malik said. "We haven't lived this long by being _stupid_, you know."

Harry roughly grabbed Ron by the arm and made to spin the both of them around. "We're leaving with Hermione. We're leaving _now_. I'm responsible for too much to let this ruin _everything_."

Percy also made a grab for Ron, catching his brother's other arm. "Wait," he pleaded, "Harry, I know that I've not been the best, over the past couple of years, but I'd never do anything that would put you in danger."

Harry's eyes were murderous, by now. "You _just have_, Percy. When you decided to trust _him_" – he thrust his wand in Malfoy's direction – "you put us in danger! You put everything we've worked for in danger!"

"You're ignoring help that's thrown itself at your feet!" Percy shouted.

"_I beg to differ. I throw myself at the feet of no one."_

_-Yami, please don't say that aloud.-_

Ron yanked his arm away from Percy's grip. "I agree with you, mate," he said to Harry. His gaze swiveled back to Percy, his expression tinged with some regret. "I'm sorry, Percy, but I can't be puttin' my best mate in this kind of trouble."

"You're already _in_ trouble," Percy said exasperatedly.

Bill grabbed both of the boys before they could even take another step. "I don't like this much either," he admitted, and his eyes were cold when they surveyed the newcomers again, "but Hermione Granger is going nowhere fast, she needs to rest, and you still have plans to carry out, no?"

Malik glanced down at himself and sighed sharply. "And now my shirt's wrecked." He indicated the blood starting to seep through the cloth.

The youngest Weasley winced; clearly a bit green over the sight of so much blood, and Bill seemed to take that as initiative to get the ball rolling.

"That settles it, then," the oldest ginger said, "you're coming in. We can talk things over like civilized folk and go from there. Sound fair?"

Ron looked like he really wanted to protest, but surprisingly held his tongue and instead stalked back towards the cottage. Potter hung back, waiting for them to pass him. Draco caught his eye as he followed Bill. What he saw when they locked gazes, however, didn't please him much.

Potter was _never_ going to trust him. That much was clear.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Draco overheard Bill mutter to Percy. The younger brother cast a surreptitious glance back towards Draco and the others.

Percy looked as if he were considering it, for a moment, before nodding. "I do, Bill."

"Good."

Bakura grabbed Malik and helped him towards the cottage, both of them making efforts to minimize movements of Malik's torso. Still, the blonde winced with every movement. Amos eventually came up on Malik's other side to provide some extra help.

"I'm not _that_ hurt," Malik complained, never being one to appreciate being babied.

"Of course not," Bakura drawled coldly, barely glancing back at Potter, who followed them with calculating eyes. "You're just bleeding to show everyone how _cool_ you are."

"…Thanks for the sarcasm, asshole."

"I'm checking on 'Mione," Ron reported, mostly to Harry, and made a beeline into the cottage.

Bill was holding the door to the cottage open for the rest of them, and when they approached the door, he halted them. "I can't promise any long stay," he admitted, a frown on his face that was a mixture of apology and warning, "but we'll patch you up. Any funny business…and, well, I'm not afraid of using the killing curse. Understood?"

He seemed to be particularly addressing Malfoy, at this. The blonde-turned-brunette winced and glanced away.

"If anything funny happens, _I'll_ kill him." Bakura offered.

"Oh, the loyalty," Draco hissed, unimpressed by Bakura's particular brand of humour. Bakura looked a tad surprised at the heat of Draco's response, but didn't seem to dwell on it for long. Bill let them in with a vague nod, his lips twitched up into something that almost seemed like a smile.

Draco sighed in frustration and leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed. With Potter's gang hanging around, all of Draco's guards were back up. He had history with them. He didn't like the idea of their judgment much more than they liked his presence at their safe house.

This whole thing had managed to get them to Potter, sure, but what they'd forgotten to factor in was whether or not Potter was going to accept their help. It wasn't looking terribly likely, in Draco's opinion.

"Come outside for a moment."

Draco turned, to where Potter was standing in the doorway.

"Excuse me?" Draco goaded.

The black-haired boy gave him a very deliberate look before turning around and heading back towards the beach.

In a moment of curiosity – and, in retrospect, stupidity – Draco followed Potter out the door. He closed it behind him, hoping that no one would follow and that he could sort a few things out with the resident Golden Boy.

Potter walked a ways down the beach before he stopped. Draco had to jog a bit to catch up to where the black-haired male was.

"Why so far off?" Draco queried, glancing back at the cottage that was a little ways in the distance.

"I don't want this to be overheard." The response was enigmatic and full of all kinds of connotations. Draco felt the skin on his neck prickle and his fingers twitched, wanting to reach for his wand.

Faster than Draco could predict, Potter turned around and, with impressive force, punched Malfoy in the jaw, knocking the other male off of his feet and sending him sprawling to the ground. Draco hit the sand hard and he rolled, his hands coming up to his face.

"The bloody _fuck_ was that for, Potter?" he shouted, leaping to his feet.

Potter already had his wand out, the weapon pointed dead between Draco's eyes. "I'm not gullible, Malfoy. Now, tell me what you're playing at!"

Draco spat blood from his mouth, having bitten his cheek when Harry punched him. He grimaced at the small red stain he'd made on the sand. "I'm not playing at anything," he mumbled, frustrated.

"Right," Potter sneered, not backing off. "Because a person changes that fast after a lifetime of Death Eater servitude."

"What gives you the right to assume I've always been a Death Eater?" Draco demanded. With his words, all of his hatred and frustration came boiling up and out onto the surface. "Just because you're Harry_-bloody-fucking_-Potter doesn't give you the right to go around deciding who-"

"No, it doesn't!" Potter agreed roughly. "But you've done a brilliant job showing how ruthlessly like your Death Eater _father_ you are since the day I met you, Malfoy!"

"I'm _not_ like my father!" Draco shot back.

"Clearly," Potter seethed, his eyes full of hatred that Draco had only seen in the eyes of the Dark Lord and his followers. He didn't know that Potter was even capable of that kind of darkness.

"Don't judge me, Potter. I'm warning you," Draco said, his voice low.

"You helped Snape kill Dumbledore. I was there, remember? You don't have the right to demand I not judge you!"

"You think I had a choice?"

"_Everyone_ has a choice."

Draco barked out a hateful laugh. "Not everything's as black-and-white as you seem to have deluded yourself into thinking, Potter."

"Like _you're_ one to go around preaching," Potter sneered.

Draco was getting mighty sick of everyone making assumptions. He was sick of getting this kind of crap when he'd finally,_ finally_ made a decision he was happy with, a decision that had been his own. He wasn't going to take Potter's bullshit any more than he was going to take anyone else's.

And Draco, in a blind fit of his own rage, smacked Potter's wand arm out of the way – surprising the dark-haired wizard – and decked Potter just the same way he'd done to Draco a moment before.

The satisfying thump of Potter hitting the ground and the cry of surprise was music to Draco's ears.

"Been waiting to do that for seven _years_, Potter."

Potter sat up, looking rather stunned with that whole turn of events, and rubbed his face. His green eyes looked cloudy with confusion, anger, and resignation – the last of which Draco couldn't hazard much of a guess to why it was there.

"Why don't you pull your wand on me, Malfoy?" Harry asked softly, "Just use the killing curse, like your _leader_ wants."

"First of all," Draco sneered, "The Dark Lord wants to off you himself. He doesn't want anyone else doing that job."

Harry's eyes flashed dangerously, a retort quick on his lips-

"-And second," Draco interrupted the other male, then sighed with frustrated acquiescence before holding out his hand, "I follow no one. Not anymore."

"Taking the high road," Potter observed, and suddenly the only look in his eyes was that resignation. "I didn't ever see this one coming."

"It's a once-in-a-lifetime offer," Draco drawled, his lips quirking in a cold smile. "I need your help, and even if you don't realize it, you need our help, too."

"Friendly ceasefire, huh?"

Draco snorted. "I'd hardly throw a word like 'friendly' into it, Potter. You still make me want to wretch about every time I see you." He inclined his head toward his hand. "But a ceasefire would be a rather good idea."

Potter took Draco's hand, and Draco hefted him back onto his feet with a grunt. The other male brushed off his clothes before glancing up at Draco with a curious expression.

"What?" Draco demanded. He didn't like to be stared at.

"You didn't pull your wand on me. At all," Potter observed, surprise clear in his voice.

"Shocking," Draco jeered. For some reason, and he didn't quite know why, he couldn't get the bite into his response. The hatred just didn't seem to be there.

_All this 'playing for the good guy team' is starting to make me go soft_.

"I still don't think I believe you, Malfoy-"

"That's your _own _damn fault."

"-but," Harry continued on, giving Draco an exasperated glare, "I'll let you prove it. Can't say what Ron and Hermione will do…"

"But you're all into that whole 'second chances' thing. I think you have a complex, Potter." Draco mocked, crossing his arms with a cocky smile. He knew what Potter was like. Not that he'd expected that tendency to be extended to him, or anything, but he knew how irritating Potter could be about trying to help everyone and their second cousin, when it came to most things.

Potter's expression turned disdainful. "It got _you_ one, didn't it?"

Draco's grin faded momentarily. "True," he admitted.

"Then I wouldn't knock it, Malfoy."

_Bloody touchy, that one is_…

Potter turned around and began heading back towards the cottage, apparently satisfied with their altercation. He walked a ways before turning back and glancing at Malfoy. "Coming?" he queried.

"That depends," the blonde-turned-brunette jibed, "are you going to clock me again?"

The ambiguous grin that Potter made in response didn't do much to quell his concerns. The other male just turned and walked all the way back to the door. Draco, not feeling any inclination to be out alone, followed.

Potter entered the cottage and waited for Draco to make his way in, too. Then, Potter shut the door behind them and walked into the entrance. He cast a sidelong glare at Malfoy. "So, you never said - what happened to turn you against all of your _friends_?"

Draco knew exactly what Potter meant by the word "friends."

"Bloody _felt_ like-" he cut himself off, gritting his teeth and glaring away. His nails bit into the palms of his hands with the force of his frustration. Whether they'd come to a strange sort of impasse or not, Potter clearly still felt the need to rub salt in the wound.

"So?" Potter pressed, his grin irritatingly smug.

Draco was pretty well fed up with that kind of crap. He'd thought that he'd been clear about that when he'd decked Potter back outside, but apparently the message hadn't gotten across.

"So _what_?" Draco hissed heatedly.

"I did _ask _you a question."

He opened his mouth to shoot off another scathing remark, hoping that this one got Potter off his back. The expression in Harry's eyes, however – that accusation that he still didn't forgive him for what had happened at the end of sixth year – was enough to stop his words dead.

"…I regretted what happened in that tower," he murmured eventually, his expression softening.

Honesty didn't leave an especially good taste in his mouth, and Draco glared up at Potter for putting him in that position. Potter looked surprised, though, by Draco's genuineness. It looked a bit like his brain was having difficulty processing it, actually.

Good. That's what Potter got for making assumptions.

"Don't go around thinking that I'm some kind of reform case, though," Draco snapped, his embarrassment and frustration elicited by Harry's lack of response. "I'm not going to prance around like you and your silly friends."

Potter looked stunned, but the expression faded into another smug smile. "I don't get you," he admitted. "You disarmed Dumbledore up there. You let Snape kill him. You join the Death Eaters with your father, and then you just…?"

"Then I was feeling a bit mutinous about the time those idiots strolled on in," Draco inclined his head to where Malik was sitting on a chair with Bill and Bakura changing his bandages. Fleur, the woman Bill had married, came rushing in with a bowl of water and a cloth.

"Did they work for him, too?" Potter queried. His tone had become a bit more amicable, but Draco could see the tenseness in his shoulders. Potter was conversing with him, but he wasn't comfortable in the slightest.

"Captured and forced into servitude, more like," Draco corrected. Potter's eyes flashed with surprise at that revelation. "He bit off more than he could chew with those two, though."

"Yeah…?"

"We were at Hogwarts and the two of them were trying to get out of things. I got involved – still haven't a clue how – and we got caught. He" – Draco didn't need to specify who 'he' was – "killed Ryou's father. His mother's already gone, I think. Last parent he had. Bellatrix tried to kill Malik, the blonde guy, and Ryou just…snapped. We got the hell out of there and have been running ever since."

"We've missed a lot," Harry said softly, resignedly. Draco chanced a glance and caught Potter staring at Bakura with an expression that almost seemed…empathetic. Of course Harry would identify with Ryou – Potter's parents were dead, and by the same hand.

The thought was almost disturbing to him, but Draco couldn't help but think that they'd lucked out in Ryou having this kind of connection to Potter. It'd make things easier.

"I think you three should clear out after he's better," Potter said suddenly, sharply. "It'll be best if you keep running."

"It'd be best if you got those two to help you," Draco said harshly. "They practice a different sort of magic, you know."

Bakura's gaze found Draco's surreptitiously. Suddenly, Draco wondered just how much information he was supposed to be giving out. Bakura held his gaze for a moment before returning his attention back to Malik, who seemed to be complaining again.

"Oh?" Potter queried, seeming intrigued but still sceptical.

Draco bit his lip. "Ask _them_," he said quickly. "It's not really mine to tell."

When Potter chuckled, Draco couldn't help but glare at the other wizard with all the ferocity of their seven years' long rivalry.

"_What_ are you laughing at, Potter?" Draco hissed.

Potter shrugged and took a few steps forward. "You _have_ changed," he observed.

"And that's a problem?"

"If it's a ruse," Potter amended in response, his expression turning dangerous. Draco didn't think Potter had the guts to look so menacing. It was a somewhat-pleasant surprise. He'd always found the guy a tad spineless, but it seemed their recent adventures had done well for his backbone.

"It's not," Draco retorted.

"See to it that you make that _clear_, then," Potter said. It was the end of the conversation, apparently, because Potter then crossed the room and made his way up a small, wooden staircase. Draco presumed he was off to see the rest of his merry troupe.

He decided that pursuing Potter was only going to end in problems, so he made his way towards the chair where Malik and the others were, sitting down at the couch beside Amos Diggory.

"You look like you got your clock cleaned," Amos observed, a wry sort of 'boys will be boys' look on his face. "You and Potter sort a few things out?"

"Something like that."

"Well, you look pleased with yourself. I'd say it went well?"

"Where's Percy?" he queried, ignoring Amos' pestering and hoping that the old man would take the cue to back off.

"I'm not certain," Amos replied, grinning knowingly at Draco's total avoidance of the subject. "Upstairs, perhaps…?"

_To explain what he can about us to Harry and the other two, no doubt, _Draco thought pensively, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair and using his palm to prop up his chin. Then, after a quiet moment, a dark sense of humour passed over his mind.

_Oh, Granger's going to freak._

End Chapter

…Because I think that, right off the bat, Draco and Harry would have some pretty nasty stuff to sort out between the two of them. Before anything could go forward, Harry would have to get past his hatred of Draco, and Draco would have to get past his disdain for Harry's cause.

Not that that's happened yet, but they seem to have met somewhere in the middle in a temporary truce.

This chapter just kind of took itself and ran. I'm hoping it turned out well.

Drop a review on your way out, and I'll see you for chapter eleven!


	11. Control

Thanks to everyone who read/ read and left a review last chapter! I always love getting feedback, but it's nice to know that people are still reading this story at all. It's been a rather long haul with this "series", and I'm glad that people haven't become bored with it. I love you all!

I had a reader raise to my attention that they felt my ratings for this story and its predecessor should be elevated to "M". Upon rereading, I did raise NSA's rating to "M", but I am unsure of whether this story's rating should be upped, too. Thoughts? Does this story not exceed the "T" rating of non-explicit violence (but violence allowed), non-sexual content, some cursing, etc.?

Chapter Eleven

Control

True to form, Granger freaked.

Harry had tried to settle her – though Draco maintained that the effort was deliberately abysmal – to no avail, and the young woman had managed to cure herself of whatever had left her bedridden. This, of course, was only in her desire to murder Draco, which he was shocked turned out to be a spectacularly driven expedition.

Needless to say, after managing to either dodge or block a few rather debilitating spells shot his way, Draco escaped outside and waited on the back step for the others to explain everything to the angry female.

Hermione Granger was a force to be reckoned with. Draco cursed his younger self, as he sat out there, wondering how he hadn't seen that kind of rage much, much sooner. He would have saved himself the terror and avoided her entirely.

Malik and Ryou had ended up outside with him, both of them clearly perturbed by the young woman's vicious outburst.

"What did you _do _to her to make her hate you like that?" Ryou breathed when more shouting came from inside the cottage. All three of them winced when they heard something like metal-on-flesh followed by a shout of 'Hermione, what the bloody hell was that for?'

Draco gritted his teeth and shook his head. "I hated her for being muggle-born. Mostly because she's a brilliant witch, and I like taking know-it-alls down a few pegs."

Malfoy slapped a hand to his mouth, his eyes widening in surprise. Since when did he think that?

He really was getting soft. He was actually starting to _think_ like a do-gooder. He had just admitted – out loud, no less – that Granger was actually a worthwhile witch. He'd admitted to jealously.

_What_ was the world coming to? If he started making friendship speeches, then he was going to demand that someone off him then and there.

"Maybe you should admit to her that you think she's brilliant," Malik suggested with a grin that said he understood Draco's sudden expression. Clearly, he was enjoying it. "Women like to be complimented. They pretend that they still hate you after, if she's anything like my sister, but they actually love it."

Ryou cast Malik a strained expression. "That's not necessarily true, Malik. You can't base all women off of your sister."

"She's the only one safe enough for me to be in the same room as."

"Moot point," Draco snapped, running a hand through his hair, "because I'm not going back in there with _that_ on the loose."

Ryou look like he was about to protest, but when another shriek was let loose from within the cottage, he paled and apparently decided better of it.

Draco, feeling desperate to change the subject, gave Malik a short once-over. "How are you, anyways?"

"Patched," Malik answered with a shrug, not seeming overly interested in discussing it. Draco was fine with it. He knew that Malik wasn't entirely in love with the idea that he was slowing things down. If he knew Malik the way he thought he'd come to know him, the Egyptian teenager wasn't fond of being a weak link.

Draco nodded absently. "Good."

"You'll have to thank Mr. Weasley for giving you that shirt," Ryou commented.

Draco grinned at the young man with a wry expression. "You're going to have to start calling them by name – referring to 'Mr. Weasley' is going to have half of that house responding."

"I will," Malik said – and Draco wasn't sure to whom he was responding. The blonde then spared Draco a knowing grin. He'd commented earlier on how disorienting having three similar redheads in the same place was.

Draco glared out ahead. The water lapped rhythmically against the sand and the grass around them swayed gently. This place was too peaceful – it set his teeth and nerves on edge. Peaceful places tended to not stay that way for long.

Then the door banged open, shocking Draco into stumbling off the steps and out onto the sand. Hermione Granger stood in the doorway, all wild brown hair and a furious expression. She had her wand pointed out at Draco as she descended the steps with raging purpose.

"I'm not going to fall for what crock of lies you told Harry," she hissed, narrowing her eyes. "I'm the last person who's going to give you chances, Draco Malfoy. Why did you come here?"

Harry had cried her name, as he and Ron dashed out the door after her.

"You three have to do something important that's going to kill _him_, right?" Draco stumbled through his words quickly, his hands snapping up in a gesture of surrender. He couldn't solve this particular altercation by punching anyone in the face. Granger was going to take a whole lot of convincing.

"None of your business," she snapped.

"Hermione-" Harry tried to interject, putting and arm on her shoulder. She just slapped the hand away, her gaze and wand never moving from being trained on Draco.

Ron sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Hermione's smart, Harry," he murmured, "maybe she's seen-?"

"Oh, so I'm not?" Harry snapped.

"That's not what I-"

"Is everyone going to hold me at wandpoint?" Draco demanded, frustration welling up like a tsunami, overriding his sense. He cut a harsh gaze at Ron. "Would you like a go, too?"

"Don't tempt me, Malfoy," the red-haired teen warned, his eyes flashing. Weasley wasn't kidding around, apparently. These days, he'd clearly opted to drop his poor sense of humour and take things seriously.

Well, bloody great for him.

"I should kill you," Hermione snarled fiercely.

Malfoy wasn't an idiot, though. He could see the way her hand was shaking. He could see the pain on her face. Clearly, she was unwell. His eyes caught a flash of a red mark under her sleeve.

"_-blood"_, it read. Draco's eyes darkened. He'd wager the word read _"Mudblood"._ Bellatrix's handiwork – he hadn't a single doubt about that.

That meant that Bellatrix hadn't been entirely lying when she'd said she'd crossed paths with Potter and his friends. She must have just lost them when she'd found him at the Ministry, and Potter must have only just gotten here.

Suddenly, Bill's words about Hermione "not going anywhere fast" earlier made a lot of sense. If she'd been attacked by Bellatrix, Draco was awed that she even could still move, let alone prance around trying to off him.

"You fought Bellatrix," he murmured, eyes transfixed on her arm. It looked like it'd healed a bit – probably with some magical help, but he was surprised not to see it bandaged.

"We were at the manor," Harry corrected, "and not by choice."

Hermione looked self-conscious, and pulled her sleeve down to cover the injury. She glared at Draco, clearly not happy that he'd brought that particular subject up.

"You were supposed to bandage that," Harry mused, but there was nothing humorous in his voice.

She glanced back at Harry. "I was a bit distracted by our impromptu _guests_." Just as quickly, her fierce eyes were back on Draco. Her arm hadn't moved.

"What happened there?" Draco queried, looking at Potter instead of Granger. Potter didn't trust him, he knew that much, but he had already seemed to offer an impasse.

"Keep your mouth shut," Hermione ordered.

Frustration nipped at his mind, pulling at his emotions like it was trying to unravel him entirely. "Were you three _really _stupid enough to get caught? How could you say you don't need help, when you've clearly just been through an ordeal?"

"_Crucio,"_ Hermione sneered. Draco braced himself, but the spell hit the ground inches away. She gave a pointed look to the space where her spell had just landed, and then back up to him. "I told you to keep your mouth shut. Next time it won't miss."

Draco's eyes widened. Granger, the queen of all rules, had just about cast an Unforgiveable spell on him. Part of him didn't think she'd have it in her, and was impressed. The other part was just wondering if he'd survive this.

Malik, sensing danger, stepped between them. "Okay, time to let cooler heads prevail here, kids," he said, putting a hand forward to touch against the tip of her wand. He tried to keep his posture unthreatening. Draco, seeing opportunity, stumbled to his feet and began brushing his clothes off.

"I'll put you down too," she warned, raising her wand up from the centre of his palm to right over his heart. Harry took a step forward, as if to intervene, but Malik caught his gaze calmly. The other male looked as if he wanted to question the motives, but didn't come forward.

"I understand that you don't trust him. He's an ass, we all know," Malik said. Draco typically would have interjected, but wisely kept calm. Granger was not one to be trifled with, at that moment, and cynicism would likely only provoke her further. "However," Malik continued, "the point remains: you three are in over your heads."

"You don't know a thing about what we're dealing with," Hermione countered, her glare unwavering. Her hand was, though. Clearly, she was as tired as she was upset, and everyone could see the pain ghosting across her face.

"We know a lot more than you think," Malik answered, keeping his voice soothing. Draco wondered, briefly, if he was well-versed in dealing with angry people holding him at the victim's end of a weapon.

They faced off, both of them stony and unwilling to back down, until rage flashed across the young woman's face. For a shocked moment, Draco thought she was going to use her wand, but instead, Hermione flung her arm down fitfully. She glared at Malik with heat that was almost visible. "If you three aren't gone, we will be. I'm not letting this be jeopardized. Not by someone like Malfoy and his new _cronies_."

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Malik beat him to it.

"Look here," Malik snapped, his voice rising just a bit, "I'm getting really tired of dealing with you hard-heads. Are all of you _wizards _like this?"

"You say that like you aren't one," Hermione snarled right back.

"It's because they aren't," Harry interjected softly.

Hermione spun around to face Harry, titling her head to seek silent validation of his words. Harry only sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You're muggles…" she whispered, then her voice rose to address them directly; "_both_ of you are muggles?"

"We're not like you," Ryou said, stepping forward. He put a hand on Malik's shoulder, pulling him back a pace. It effectively ended some of the tension in the face-off. Hermione's eyes met his. "We practice a much older form of magic – it's called Shadow Magic. It's used within games."

"Games…?" Ron queried, making his presence known again. He cocked an eyebrow at Harry. "Like Wizard's Chess, you think?"

Harry shrugged, since he didn't know, but Ryou chuckled and nodded. "Something like that," Ryou agreed. "It can be used in battle, to an extent. By entering into battle, it becomes a game with implied rules. It also has other uses."

"Old magic," Hermione murmured, and Draco could almost see the gears in her head turning. "I've never heard of Shadow Magic."

"It was practiced in Ancient Egypt, during the reign of the Great Pharaohs," Malik said. "We are among the last. It requires ownership of ancient articles called Millennium Items." Malik pulled out his Millennium Rod from his back pocket, proffering it in his hand.

"Malik carries one of seven," Ryou continued. He buttoned down a couple buttons of his shirt, and then removed the Ring from under his shirt. It glowed slightly, and Malik coughed quietly to hide his chuckle. Bakura was showing off. "I carry another."

Hermione's eyes glinted, a spark of interest. Their information appealed to her intellect. Ryou knew that would be enough to get her to back down, if only for enough time to further appeal into letting them help the wizards.

Something flashed across her face, though, and the spark vanished. "That only makes you a threat," she said, her voice oddly monotone, and the hand gripping her wand tightened.

Harry stepped forward this time, putting a firm grip on Hermione's shoulder. "We should talk inside. I want to understand more."

"We need to move soon," Hermione urged in a hiss. Harry cast a sharp glance at her, a promise of later discussion that Malik, Ryou, and Draco were, of course, probably not privy to.

"I agree," said a lilting voice, light as a feather but filled with humour. "We have much to learn from one another."

Out from the doorway stepped Luna Lovegood, held around the waist by a woman with blonde hair and a beautiful face. Wasn't she the woman from the Triwizard Tournament? Had she not represented Beauxbatons?

"Luna," Ryou breathed, a smile ghosting across his face. Then, it vanished, replaced with confusion. "Weren't you in Hogwarts?"

"I was," she agreed, "but you know how things can be: they come and go."

The response was enough to make Ryou's smile return, and Harry and his friends looked confused about the others' acquaintance with their Ravenclaw peer.

"My name is Fleur," the other woman greeted, her voice heavy with a thick French accent, "I am Bill's wife. I am sorry I could not welcome you into ze home earlier, however, I was attending to our sick guests."

"No problem at all," Malik said, looking surprisingly pink in the cheeks. Fleur was, after all, a startlingly beautiful woman.

"Bill left for ze market," Fleur said, "he and Percy will be back soon, I imagine."

Draco blinked hard, surprised at that information. He hadn't even noticed their sudden absence.

"Dean Thomas is also here," Luna said to Draco, Malik, and Ryou, "but I cannot recall if you met him."

"We have many guests at zis moment," Fleur agreed, looking breathless and not a little flustered.

"We're sorry to have troubled you," Ryou said to her, looking embarrassed. He bowed in typical Japanese formality, at which Malik snickered and the rest just appeared confused.

"You're the only Japanese kid here, Ryou," Malik quipped. The only response he got was a glare that didn't look totally brown-eyed, and an elbow that was _definitely_ all Bakura. He cursed at Bakura in Arabic – who blinked at him, because the Spirit, of course, spoke the language of Ancient Egypt, and not so much modern Arabic. Well, duh.

Fleur seemed to have appreciated Ryou's sentiment, however, since her returning smile seemed grateful. She then turned and went back into the cottage, likely to attend to their other guests.

"Are you feeling better?" Harry asked Luna. He approached her and put a gentle hand on her arm. She must have not been well when he'd found her, because the way he was watching her bespoke great concern.

"Much," the blonde answered with an airy smile. "Thank you, Harry."

"You should probably rest," Ron murmured, quietly enough that it was clear the statement was only meant for Luna. Then, he glanced at the still-irate brunette who was, scarily enough, still armed. "You too, Hermione – you weren't feeling so hot earlier, and with…" he trailed off, casting a deliberate glance at the others.

Yes, he was definitely leaving them out of some kind of plan.

Draco frowned. He didn't like this one bit. The idea that they were going to just run off – not that he necessarily blamed them, since he wouldn't have trusted him either, in their shoes – was the huge elephant in the room. All of them knew it, but no one was about to go pointing it out. They were all walking on glass, here, all of them trying to tiptoe around agreement or real conversation, because no one trusted one another and no one wanted to try.

Even if they did part ways with Potter and his friends, they needed to sort out their values in this whole war. Draco knew that Malik and Ryou were instrumental in something, especially if the Dark Lord had started dabbling in their magic – and Draco was almost positive that he had.

From what he knew of their magic, it wasn't controlled the way that his was, and everything came at a price, sometimes one that was steeper than the benefits. It was a dark magic of its own creation, unconcerned with human affairs in the way that a wizard's dark magic was a creation of human darkness. Their magic was separate entirely, and it was chaotic.

The Dark Lord, whether he knew it or not, was opening a Pandora's Box by approaching this old sorcery. Draco was certain that only suffering would come from this. Not saying that anything but suffering had ever come from the Dark Lord's plotting.

Harry gestured to the doorway. "Everyone heading in?" he asked. It felt more like an order than a request.

Draco glanced at Ryou and Bakura, who looked a bit surprised by Harry Potter. They really should have listened when he'd described the bleeding-heart do-gooder a thousand times over. Their trio would not get along easily with Potter and his cheerleaders. It just wasn't a good mix.

They filed inside, slowly but surely. Potter locked the door behind them and rather obviously positioned himself at the fireplace – at the _head_ of everything.

_Front and centre…right where you always like to be, huh, Potter?_

Draco had to bite his tongue. God, he had nearly forgotten just how Potter made his skin crawl. The obvious hero complex and pathetic love of all things good had always rubbed Draco the wrong way. Sure, Draco wasn't a shining example to be setting for the children, but Potter's constant heroism-attempts were liable to get anyone less lucky killed very quickly. Draco didn't think anyone should ever follow his example – it was one that depended on others to help. It was one that depended on things going right. Maybe Potter had a guardian angel, or something, keeping him on the right path and everything peachy-perfect.

Draco did not have such fortune and neither did his comrades. Perhaps that's what they got for not being perfect heroes like Potter.

He sneered and glanced around. Fleur and Amos had made themselves scarce – likely having known something like this was coming and intending to avoid the crossfire. Apparently there were other guests, but Draco wasn't entirely interested in them.

Granger and Weasley sat on the couch furthest from where Draco was, both making themselves as close to Potter as possible without looking as pathetically clingy as they actually were. Luna appeared to be rather unconcerned with everything, and sat cross-legged on the floor nearby her two classmates. Draco sat on the couch opposite to Granger, and Malik and Ryou – or was it Bakura, by now? – sat down beside him.

"We have something that we have to do," Potter began. He was speaking directly to Draco, Malik, and Bakura. "Hermione, Ron, and I. We have to do it alone."

"Brilliant introduction, Potter," Draco hissed under his breath. Ron not-so-inconspicuously grabbed Hermione's arm as the young woman made to leap across the coffee table at him.

"There's more going on than you realize," Malik said, slapping his hand to Draco's chest and pushing him back against the couch. "Once your _Dark Lord_ got involved in our magic," he spat the name with impressive contempt, "he introduced your world to dealings that will kill a lot of people."

Ron snorted, shifting uncomfortably. His eyes roved over Malik and Ryou with confused suspicion. "Wouldn't be the first time," Ron said eventually.

"That doesn't mean," Hermione interjected, training her eyes on Malik, "that this is your responsibility. You should be smart and get out of here, if you're really not one of _his_." Her tone made it obvious: she still thought that they'd invited traitors into their midst.

This was, to a relative extent, the truth – even if not in the capacity Granger had assumed.

Ryou glanced up, his eyes dark enough that Draco would have assumed it was Bakura, until the soft voice came. "He's a killer, and he's involved our magic. It's our responsibility now as much as it is yours."

"And revenge has _nothing_ to do with this at all," Draco said dryly. Ryou's harsh gaze met his. Then, realizing what Draco was getting at, Ryou turned to Harry. His expression was grim, maybe even a little broken, and Draco felt bad for bringing it up.

Somebody had to do the dirty deed, though. If they didn't play the sympathy card, they were going to end up with nothing, on this gamble.

"He killed my father," Ryou explained, and though Draco had already told Harry this, Hermione's gasp was enough to have made the revelation worth it.

"Bastard made it personal," Malik muttered. "And he sent his men after my family, too. In the interest of their safety, I need to make sure this ends."

Harry looked relatively sympathetic. In fact, Draco knew that Harry leaned to his side after their earlier semi-brawl. Still, there was a firm set in his lips that said this wasn't going to be easy. "We've trusted a lot of people," Harry said, "and we have been betrayed. What we have to do…it's instrumental in ending this."

"So you're saying that if we want this to work, we have to let you go," Malik supplied, looking unconvinced.

Draco drew in a sharp breath, glaring at Malik. Giving them ideas – giving them an out – was only going to make this a million times harder. They maybe wouldn't get trust, but they needed understanding.

"There's something that we have to find," Harry said.

Hermione stood up, even when Ron tried to grab her and keep her down. The red-haired male threw his hands up in exasperation and crossed his arms, looking sullen.

"Don't tell them anything more, Harry," Hermione warned. "You said it yourself – we've been betrayed before." She turned her hot gaze to Draco. "We all know that Malfoy's always been a rat."

"He betrayed his entire family to help us," Ryou said quietly.

Hermione's head snapped to Ryou, and her mouth popped open. "What?" she finally managed.

"My mother almost died," Draco explained, rising to his feet to level with Granger. "My father's got her and they're on the run, now. They had to leave everything behind because I" – he indicated Malik and Ryou – "betrayed the Dark Lord to help them. You could ask Bellatrix, if you want…she quite nearly killed Malik."

Malik sighed. "Do I have to strip tease to prove it?"

"We saw the blood," Ron said quietly. He looked uncomfortable when all eyes swung to him. "We saw the blood going through his shirt when they arrived here. Was a bloody mess."

Malik's small smirk seemed to ask 'pun intended?', but the blonde wisely kept his mouth shut.

"And I introduced them to the DA, whom they never betrayed. Gave most of us quite a scare, though, when you pulled that knife on us," Luna said finally, a drowsy smile on her face. "Sorry to not have mentioned that sooner."

Harry's jaw dropped. "You pulled a _knife_-?"

Ryou looked up, embarrassed that he was going to have to take the blame. "It was to prove that magic doesn't solve everything. They were depending on essentially no defenses at all."

"It was rather surprising, but effective," Luna remarked. "I knew he wasn't going to hurt anybody. So did you, Ryou."

Ryou blinked, then allowed a small smile. "Yes. I…did. We weren't going to hurt anyone."

"We ended up in England because we were road-tripping through Europe. Checked out a bar called the 'Leaky Cauldron," he cast a sardonic look up at Harry. "Heard of it?"

Harry nodded slowly. "It's how we get to Diagon Alley," he explained. "It's also a wizard inn."

"We were ambushed by a group of men in black cloaks – whom we later learned were Death Eaters," Ryou continued, a grimace twisting his lips at their own story. He fidgeted with his hands in his lap, heaving a sigh. "They chased us through most of London and eventually their Dark Lord caught us. He knew about our magic, even though our power is generally kept secret and we never involve ourselves in other magical affairs."

"He caught wind of you while you were travelling," Draco said, filling in the blanks. "And used some resources to find out some small details."

"He knew you were powerful and intended to sway you," Hermione murmured. She was clearly drawing conclusions with each sentence, thankfully in the relative right direction. Then, her eyes met Ryou's with cool calculation. "Did he?"

"No," Ryou said. "We played for a short time, hoping that someone would make an error and we'd slip away. Malik and I know how to run under the radar – we could have eluded him for a long time. He figured us out, though, and decided to get himself insurance."

"Your father," Harry concluded, a grim expression on his face.

Ryou nodded, his hands fisting in his lap. "He kept him prisoner and sent us to the school – Hogwarts – to act as his spies. We tried to figure out a way to save my father, but by the time we thought we had a chance, he'd killed him."

"Usually, in that moment he would have made some pretty powerful enemies," Malik said. Draco would have thought it egotistical, but it only took a single look at Malik's steely expression to know that he was reciting plain fact – they weren't the kind to be trifled with. "Your magic, however, dilutes ours…for some reason. We've acclimated enough that we're starting to filter it better, more naturally, but it's causing…" he cast Ryou a surreptitious glance, "…difficulties."

Hermione opened her mouth – probably query as to _what_ difficulties they meant – but appeared to catch the pained look on Ryou's face and thought better of it. Her jaw snapped shut and her eyes turned stormy.

"If it weren't for Percy and Mister Diggory, I'd have said this whole thing was too perfect," Harry admitted. "But I also know what it looks like when someone loses someone they love," he continued. His eyes met Ryou's. "I know it sounds a bit cheesy, but you can't fake eyes that haunted. I'd know. I've seen it more than I'd care to admit."

"In the mirror?" Draco guessed, surprised by the _lack_ of malice in his voice. He scowled at his own tone. He was _not_ going to start turning soft. Not around Potter and not around his pals. Of all the people, not them.

Harry shrugged slightly. "Sometimes. And in others." His expression hardened. "A lot of people have lost loved ones, since all this began."

"It's a war," Malik deadpanned.

"Think we're all aware of that one, mate," Weasley shot back, his voice almost as sullen and dull as his expression.

Draco wanted to sneer at Weasley, maybe make a comment about how 'thank you, for being so brilliantly obvious', but he was distracted by Luna, who had gotten to her feet.

"I think I'd fancy a walk on the beach," she said, surveying everyone with that same, disarming smile she always wore. "Anyone want to join me? Hermione?"

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin at being so directly addressed – she must have been completely immersed in her own thoughts. She looked contemplative for a moment, but when Luna's expression sharpened ever-so-slightly, made it just clear enough that it wasn't an offer but a demand, she stood.

Draco was impressed. He hadn't thought that Lovegood had it in her.

They all watched as the two young women made their getaway. The air suddenly seemed so much more tense – surprising, since Hermione had expressed the majority of the hostility during the entire discussion.

"How much do you want to bet that she's going to tell Hermione her side of the story?" Draco guessed, offering a semi-sardonic grin over at the pair beside him.

"Is that a problem?" Ron challenged. Apparently, the testosterone in the room had given Weasley some confidence, because he suddenly looked lively. Draco had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes – heaven forbid he incite Weasley's 'wrath' – at the other male's attempt to go alpha.

Malik met the challenge with a cool gaze, one that Draco was pleased to say made Weasley shrink back. "No, it's not. She helped us a great deal, actually."

What Draco had been commenting on, previously, had been that Luna Lovegood was going to be setting Hermione Granger straight. He wasn't being suspicious – he was pleased that someone was going to tell her the truth and make her understand.

Harry sighed, probably realizing that without Hermione – who was, admittedly, the brains of all of their better operations – they weren't going to get very far. He pushed himself away from the hearth and offered his friend a deliberate stare and a head tilt towards the stairs. "I have to talk to Griphook. Coming, Ron?"

Ron stood, but paused and returned his attention to Draco. "Your friends better be ready to demonstrate. I want to see that they've got different magic before I even think about believing all of this."

"If we do anything big," Malik warned, "your nemesis is going to sense us."

Malfoy cast Malik a withering glare. _Nemesis…really?_

"Keep it small, then," Ron snapped. Harry looked concerned, almost as if he wanted to say something, but instead just shook his head.

Malik's hand lifted, the gesture so slight that Malfoy didn't think Ron noticed it. Draco did notice, however, when Malik's eyes widened and his eyes darted down to his own hand.

"I'm going to see Griphook," Harry said, and without another word, ascended the stairs. Clearly, he was finished with their little talk.

Ron Weasley offered them one last warning glare – as if he were the one who had all the say in things – before following his friend.

"Lot of good that whole talk did," Draco muttered before cursing softly. He had stupidly hoped that something could come of this, but they weren't a step closer to a tentative alliance than they had been when they first arrived. Potter was feigning openness, but it was clear to anyone with eyes that he wasn't trusting them with a scrap of information, yet. _"There's something we have to find" _had been his only indication, and even though Granger had actively protested, Draco knew that Potter hadn't intended to say anything further, anyways.

They were going to bolt at their first convenient chance. Draco could just feel it.

Malik stood up very suddenly, jerking Draco from his thoughts, and he suddenly realized that both of the Shadow-users appeared to be quite disturbed.

"What's wrong?" Draco ventured, feeling as if he were missing something important.

Malik shook out his hand, the one he had raised before Weasley and Potter left. "Did you feel that?" he asked Bakura, completely ignoring Draco's previous question.

Bakura – who apparently had _not_ been Ryou this entire time – nodded and scowled. "I did."

"What's _wrong_?" Draco repeated, glancing back and forth to both of them. He was definitely missing something important.

"That felt like…" Malik trailed off, now staring at his hand like it had become something entirely vile. His head snapped toward the stairs that Potter and Weasley had ascended, and then back to his hand.

"Very similar," Bakura agreed to whatever silent connection Malik had, apparently, made.

"_What_," Draco bit out through his teeth, _"_am I missing?"

As if just noticing Draco's frustration, Malik dropped his hand and inhaled sharply. "I tried to…demonstrate, a second ago. To Potter's friend."

They key word, Draco realized, was that Malik had 'tried' to demonstrate. He blinked. Something was still missing. "Why didn't you, then?"

"I couldn't," Malik replied, his eyes finding the empty stairwell again. He stared at it with a wondering expression. The gears were turning in his head, making realizations…figuring some kind of link.

Draco felt his breath leave him in a rush. "You…couldn't…" he whispered, his voice feebler than he'd anticipated. He grimaced.

"The last time we had this big a block was when we were captive the first time," Bakura said.

"Or anytime we were in his presence," Malik corrected, flexing his hand.

"The Dark Lord?" Draco queried. The pieces were starting to fit together. There was something wrong.

"He's not here, though," Malik said. "We'd definitely know if he was."

Shadows suddenly exploded along the length of Malik's hand, strange and swirling and far more menacing than Draco felt comfortable.

Malik raised his hand, astonished.

Bakura stood and Malik shook his hand again, the Shadows dispersing into thin air.

"Something…just like what the Dark Lord's magic did to you?" Draco murmured, his brow knitting in frustration. He knew what Bakura and Malik were getting at, now, but he also knew that all three of them were missing a piece of the puzzle.

Malik just returned his gaze to the stairs…and wondered.

End Chapter


	12. The Marked

So the main reason why this update was so quick was because this was initially part of chapter eleven, but when I started writing it, I realized that there were pieces in here that I still wanted to tweak (and, as it always is, a ton of stuff I wanted to add to this particular sequence of events). Thus, I cut it and posted separately.

So here's…chapter eleven and three-quarters. Because my sense of humour sucks like that.

Thank you to everyone who's been so incredibly supportive!

Chapter Twelve

The Marked

"I need you two to clarify this for me," Draco said, feeling extremely on-edge after his comrades' revelation, "because I'm certainly missing something."

"Our magic isn't filtering the way it has been, lately," Bakura explained, reiterating what he'd already told Draco a moment before. "It's like our _friend_ is holding us captive, again. It's been that way since we got here, but it has only just become…prevalent."

"I don't like your definition of friend," Malik muttered.

Draco did not like the way that information was being withheld from him. Sure, he knew that he wasn't a close friend, but they were depending on each other for survival. Some secrets just weren't a luxury that they got to keep. Bakura, especially, seemed very concerned with something, and Draco wanted to know what that was.

"And explain that for me, too," Draco said to Bakura, locking eyes with the white-haired spirit.

"What?" Malik queried. "You mean his definition of friend?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "No. Explain why it's Bakura when I thought it was Ryou, that whole time."

Draco knew that he wasn't nearly as adept as Malik at knowing whether it was Bakura or Ryou in control, but he liked to think that he'd begun to notice the patterns and physical differences. Most of the time, he could tell. This time, he'd genuinely been convinced it was Ryou.

"It was both of us, while the others were here," Bakura clarified, his eyes narrowed and harsh. He appeared frustrated. "Ryou couldn't pull total control – ever since we started fighting this other magic, he's been having difficulties."

"Ah," Draco said, realization dawning. "Those were the 'difficulties' you mentioned before."

That was definitely a more serious complication than Draco had been initially expecting. This threw a wrench into just about everything. Were they going to hesitate to use their magic, now that this issue with Ryou had cropped up? Draco didn't want to play the bad guy, but avoiding their power was going to get everyone killed.

Still, he wasn't going to expect Bakura to do anything that would harm Ryou. He'd heard bits and pieces, but he knew enough that Ryou and Bakura's relationship had been a rocky one, and their bond was more recent than an outsider would expect.

Bakura's expression was still hard. "We don't know what to do about it."

Draco was pleased that he was finally in the loop about what had been concerning the other two about Ryou this whole time. Then, like a light, a realization hit him. "You don't think he'll be completely pushed out, do you?"

Draco may not have need for friends, but he respected Ryou and all that the young man had gone through. He was the last person who deserved to disappear.

Bakura gritted his teeth. He met Malik's eyes and the blonde nodded at him. "We don't know," he said finally.

Draco felt his head bob, but he didn't really actively realize the motion. Bakura's words were sobering and not just a little upsetting. Draco swallowed and took a breath. "I'm sorry," he murmured. He didn't know what else to say.

Bakura looked surprised, but the expression faded quickly. "Don't be. There's nothing any mortals could do to fix this."

Malik's face scrunched up at Bakura's words. "God, I thought we'd kicked you of that 'everyone's a mortal' habit." It was meant to be humorous, but Draco knew that it was one of those 'inside jokes' that he was probably never going to have explained to him.

It seemed to break the tension for Bakura, because the spirit's lips quirked ever-so-slightly. The white-haired male shook his head at his friend before leaning back into the couch.

The room fell into silence. Draco stewed over the fact that he was still missing something, but he suddenly wasn't certain if, in light of his new knowledge, the other two would be receptive to further grilling by him.

The inner-debate was ended for him when Malik broke the silence:

"Potter has a connection to the Dark Lord," Malik said, his voice softer than was typical for him. He stepped to the couch adjacent to Bakura and sagged into it, as if the words had physically drained him.

"Of course he does," Draco answered. "That scar on his head…the Dark Lord cast the killing curse on him, but it didn't work."

That certainly seemed to pique Malik's interest, probably because it was a connector between Malik and Harry – both had survived the killing curse.

"I survived because Marik's soul was destroyed in my place," Malik explained, though Draco had already known this. "I wonder what Potter's excuse was."

"I honestly doubt he had another soul dwelling in the dark corners of his mind," Draco retorted dryly. From what he'd learned from his father, it had had something to do with Potter's mother, and undying love.

Honestly, the guy was just a poster-boy for the most disgustingly sweet drivel anyone could possibly conjure up.

"The connection is strong, though," Bakura said, drawing the conversation back to what was the intended focus. "Ryou's difficulty maintaining control over the body is proof enough of that."

"And I couldn't use my magic while he was in the room," Malik added. "It's no coincidence that it appeared the moment he left."

Bakura's jaw clenched, and suddenly the centre of his shirt glowed – the Ring – and his eyes faded to a natural brown.

"I can take control now, too," Ryou said quietly, looking a bit haggard. Draco had to wonder how much his fight for control was taking out of him.

"This can't be coincidence," Malik said.

Their revelation made Draco wonder. What _was _the connection between Potter and the Dark Lord? His father had spoken of a prophecy, one stating that one had to kill the other. Was that the connection, or was it something deeper?

The Dark Lord had also spoken about being able to access Potter's mind; that he was able to see some things that Potter saw. He had speculated that it went both ways, too. Draco had never thought much of it…until it suddenly became the key to something much bigger. The Dark Lord was a skilled Occlumens, but was it just Occlumency that allowed the Dark Lord access to Harry Potter, or was it something else?

Potter had a similar barrier-effect on Shadow Magic to what the Dark Lord did. That meant that there was something in Potter that was so saturated in wizard's magic that it cancelled out the others' power.

Or, Draco wondered, perhaps it was that something in Potter was a portal for the Dark Lord's power, in a sense. Was it Potter blocking it himself, or was it the Dark Lord – whether he knew it or not – blocking the magic _through_ Potter?

There were way too many questions, and none of which could be answered. Draco doubted that even Potter could answer them.

The front door opened, and in walked Luna and Granger. Luna looked pleased with herself – or perhaps it was just her average daydreaming expression – and Granger looked surprisingly calm.

Draco was going to have to owe Luna Lovegood one, after this.

"I think we've come to an agreement," Hermione announced, and she met their eyes individually. Draco thought he was going to go into shock when she met his eyes without any noticeable disgust or hatred. "Harry, Ron and I will leave tomorrow morning. You three will go with Luna and try to get back to Hogwarts. Once we have everything we need to find, we'll meet you back there."

"There's stuff you still don't know about what could happen." Malik warned. At Hermione's frown, he elaborated with a frustrated sigh. "We don't know for certain, but if what we think is going to happen, happens-"

"-then we'll be at the school," Luna said softly, "and we'll do what we can."

"Harry Potter was in Ryou's vision," Bakura said, ignoring Hermione's confused expression at him referring to Ryou as another person. "That means we need to make sure he's present when all of this happens."

"How _is_ Ryou?" Luna queried. "Because it was an awful lot of _you _today, I think."

That statement seemed to floor everyone present. It surprised Bakura, because he clearly hadn't realized just how closely Luna had been observing him. Draco was shocked because how could _she_ tell? Hermione was gaping like some kind of fish, staring at Luna and then Bakura and then back again, because she was the only one who actually had absolutely no idea what was going on.

"Two souls in one body," Bakura explained shortly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I'm Bakura."

"Most of who you were talking to, earlier, was Ryou. Bakura's the spirit who possesses the Ring that Ryou showed you." Draco explained, knowing that Bakura was being a bit unhelpful to someone who didn't know anything about his magic. "Ryou's the nice one."

Bakura cast him a withering glare. Draco ignored it.

"I won't take it back. It's true and you know it."

Malik stood, but stumbled back into the couch with a strange look on his face. Draco didn't really know what to make of that. Instead, he just made his way over to the fireplace to observe the photographs resting there.

All of them were of red-haired people – red-haired children, red-haired adults. The curious thing, Draco thought, was that there was one that did not seem to move. It stood out for more than just that reason, because it was a photo of a young blonde child – similar in looks to Fleur, but several years younger.

"Anyways," Hermione said, "Luna knows a way back to Hogwarts, and we have to go to Diagon Alley."

That had been awfully forthcoming of her, Draco had to note. Thankfully, she was starting to give some information.

"Why Diagon Alley…?" Draco asked, testing the waters to see if he might get anything else out of her, while she was feeling like sharing. He traced his fingers along the frame of the girl's photograph before slowly making eye-contact with Granger.

Her lips pursed, and Draco realized he had probably just completely overstepped his welcome on things. One step forward, two steps back. What a frustrating, repeatedly accurate phrase.

To avoid causing another violent altercation with the young woman, Draco raised his hands up in surrender. He'd been surrendering way too much, these days. "Okay, I get it. If going to the school is going to be our best move, then we'll go. I was just _curious_."

Hermione still looked affronted, but that wasn't what caught Draco's interest. It was the guardedness in her face, the twinge of panic that Draco recognized in anyone who was failing miserably at hiding the fact that they were keeping a very big secret.

Then it dawned on him.

"You're looking for what the Dark Lord had Bellatrix hide," Draco breathed, a grin curling his lips. "You're going to Gringotts."

If the sour expression on Granger's face was any indication, he'd hit the mark.

"How do you know that?" Hermione asked, her voice deceptively soft. Draco could see her hand inching to her pocket, probably so that she could be the first to pull a wand if Draco was going to cause trouble.

He snorted at the reaction and rolled his eyes. "This is _not _going to win me points," he mused, "but you three weren't the only ones I liked to keep tabs on. I did sneak around on family, too."

"You overheard something," Hermione deduced. She then nodded firmly, as if ascertaining that Draco wasn't about to call the Dark Lord to ruin all of their plans.

Or, at least, that's what he hoped she was nodding about. He'd really been far more forthcoming about his own situation than he'd wanted to be, and he'd behaved too openly. He didn't know what else he could do to make her believe him. He really didn't.

The door banged open and in came Amos, Bill, and Percy. They all carried bags and chatted amicably, completely ignoring the kids in the living room as they made their way toward the kitchen.

"Bill?" queried a musical, accented voice from upstairs. Fleur descended the steps in a flurry, a brilliant smile on her face as she dashed after them and into the kitchen. "I have missed you so much today," Draco heard her say, her voice floating through the room from the small kitchen.

Luna smiled toward the kitchen. "I should probably offer to help. They have been taking care of me." That said, she skipped off after the others.

Apparently Luna's exit seemed to end all other conversation – why did one person leaving always seem to end the conversation? Hermione spun on her heel, quickly muttering something about Potter, and made for the stairwell.

Bakura and Draco watched as Hermione vanished up the stairs, doubtlessly to discuss matters with her two friends. Luna really had to have done a number on her, because she'd been astoundingly docile for the majority of the conversation since her return.

The one who's leaving surprised Draco was Malik, who stood up abruptly from the couch and made for the front door. "I need air," was his only explanation as he rushed out the doorway like someone had lit a fire under him.

_Peculiar_, Draco thought. He'd only just found out what had been wrong with Bakura and Ryou. If this was another strange secret that was going to be kept from him for another frustratingly long period of time, Draco was going to throw a fit.

"That does not bode well," Bakura murmured under his breath, eyes darting away from where Malik had left as if trying to redirect the focus. He probably hadn't realized that Draco had heard him.

Draco deliberately positioned himself opposite Bakura, forcing the spirit to meet his eyes. Bakura always made eye contact with someone who challenged him. It was a quirk he'd noticed a long time ago. "What's up with Malik?" Draco queried, glancing at the door with a fervent expression and hoping that Bakura would divulge something.

Bakura's hands were still shoved in his pockets, and he offered a vague shrug. "I don't know. Leave him for now."

_Well, that blew that attempt_. Draco huffed, not sure whether Bakura was keeping something from him or if the spirit actually didn't know. Probably a little of both, if Draco knew a bit of how Bakura operated.

"Whatever," Draco said, a flippant agreement. He didn't care when Bakura cocked a brow at his obvious irritation. Let Bakura know that his response had annoyed him. At least Draco wasn't the one hiding things.

He frowned at the hearth, glaring into the burned wood as if all of his frustration could light it again. "And what of Granger's plans?" he asked after a few moments. Regardless of Malik's odd behaviour, they had business to attend to.

"Splitting up, you mean," Bakura deduced.

Draco nodded in confirmation. "It's a bad idea. We have strength in numbers. We've barely survived so far with the three of us, and from what we've seen and heard from them, it sounds like so have they."

If Bakura had thoughts to add, he didn't indicate it. He just sat down on the couch, looking like a lion after a satisfying hunt. Draco found Bakura's 'I'm plotting' smile exceptionally disconcerting.

Draco took the cue, though, and also sat down, letting the tension run from his body. Though there had been so much trouble here, it was nice to not be against a real threat, for a few moments.

He let his head fall back against the back of the couch, his face pointed up to the ceiling. He knew what was coming next. He knew that they were about to make a decision that would blow all trust out of the water and possibly _screw_ everything far worse than their agreement would. "We're not going to follow their plans, are we?"

Bakura grinned. "Of course we aren't."

Of course not.

Draco blew out a semi-frustrated sigh. He wasn't much for following orders, certainly not those issued by someone like Hermione Granger, but Draco also knew not to play with fire. "We're going to get burned," he said aloud.

"Most likely," Bakura admitted, but the admittance came only with a smile that appeared like the acceptance of a challenge. Draco did not like that look at all.

He really was starting to wonder if he was the only one among the four of them who had any true sense of self-preservation. Malik had survived the killing curse because another 'soul' existed in his body. Draco, however, knew that he was walking a thin line at all times. Two words, and he'd be dead.

His hand trailed down to his forearm, dancing along the skin that he knew was marked with a terrible symbol. He looked up and caught Bakura's gaze, which had gone from smug to focus in an instant. He was grateful to note, however, that the gaze was neither cautious nor concerned. He liked being trusted – or so he had decided more recently than most would find appropriate.

"I want to be rid of it," Draco clarified, so that Bakura could understand why he looked as upset as he knew he did.

"We kill the Snake," Bakura answered with ice in his tone, "and you will get that respite."

Draco laughed without humour, rolling his sleeve so that he could look at the Devil's handiwork directly. "Only that?"

"Yes. Some of it will always be there," Bakura said, looking remarkably wise and forlorn in that moment. "Your choices stay with you until death." He gave Draco's arm a pointed glance. "Some more visibly than others."

"It wasn't my choice," Draco choked, surprised by how much emotion this conversation had incurred in him. "Not really. My father made the decision for me."

Bakura eyed him for a moment, and Draco was suddenly reminded of just how old this spirit truly was. "Then perhaps you and Harry Potter have far more in common than you realize."

Draco scowled at those words. "How so?"

"You both bear the marks of decisions made in your stead," the spirit remarked.

Draco scoffed in frustration and jerked his sleeve back down to his wrist. Bakura's words rung more truly than he wanted them to. Indeed, they bore marks they would never get rid of.

But then, Draco noted to himself, Potter's was a symbol of greatness. It was the mark that made him all the things that people loved him for, and would love him for eternally. Draco bore only a mark of shame – a dark thing forever attached to him.

_Not so similar_, Draco thought to himself.

* * *

Malik closed the door behind him, stumbling down the steps and out onto the sand. He groaned as the sunlight hit his eyes, shielding them with his hand.

Ryou and Bakura were going to kill him. They were going to demand what was wrong and then probably go crazy on him for having kept this from them. Whatever _this_ was.

Draco was probably going to throw a total hissy fit, because this was only another wrench in their plans and another secret he'd barely understand.

His entire body convulsed, and Malik forced himself to move away from the vicinity of the cottage's windows. He needed to find someplace where he could be alone, where he could ride this out – again, _whatever this was_ – in solitude.

"_Now."_

He felt like he had been lit on fire. It was invisible fire that radiated from his core and burned outwards, unbearable and painful and terrifying. Malik didn't like to be scared. Fear was something that had brought about the first Marik, the first monster that had almost destroyed his loved ones and then the world.

Malik had to just about bite straight through his lower lip to keep himself from screaming. That would only send people running – or worse, cause discord among Harry and his friends about the strangeness of his sudden malady.

He made his way down the beach, finding salvation at the base of a relatively tall sand dune. He dropped to the ground, leaning back against the hot sand. He fisted a hand in his shirt, taking deep breaths and hoping he could will away the pain.

"_Fate does not apply to me."_

His breath hitched in his throat, rising out his mouth as a strangled gasp. His body jerked forward, leaning over his knees and shuddering.

But he wasn't in the sand anymore. He was on a stone floor, in a cold, dark place he knew far too well. Around him rose walls of stone, the space dark save for the paltry lighting of a single torch nailed to the wall above him.

The room was small, with a rickety dresser and a small reading desk. There was also a bed – metal framed – that Malik knew had a mattress that was hard and old. If he closed his eyes, he could remember lying on that mattress, inhaling the musty smell of age from its surface. But he also remembered it being a place of comfort, a sanctuary from all of the things in his world he had been forced into or deprived of. It was a place where he didn't have to think, where he didn't have to pretend. In that bed, he wasn't a Tomb Keeper, he was just Malik.

Malik definitely knew this place.

On the bed, there was suddenly a person. They sat with their elbows resting on their legs, their head slightly bowed. Malik could see the wild, blonde hair and knew that when that person looked up, he'd see the emptiest violet eyes imaginable.

No.

No, it couldn't be.

It couldn't be, but the figure before him was unmistakeable. It had haunted a thousand of his nightmares, and in the short time at Hogwarts, had become a wary companion.

Malik couldn't have forgotten this person if he tried.

"I thought you had been destroyed," Malik said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're gone."

The words echoed through the room like a terrible prophecy. Only this wasn't a prophecy. This was fact, this was the past. This _person_ was gone. There was no way that Fate would have allowed such a transgression after it'd already been so thoroughly messed with.

A life had to be forfeited. It was the nature of Ryou's vision – a life had been forfeit, assumingly Malik's. Instead, another had been destroyed.

But there he was. There he was, alive and sitting there. Marik looked up – smug as ever - and his lips curled back into an even smugger grin. "Perhaps I am gone. This could just be a figment of your imagination, Malik-pretty." A flash of teeth.

Malik just about snarled in rage at the response. He would not be toyed with.

He stood on shaky legs, his back to the cool, stone wall. He braced his arms against it to keep himself steady. "No," Malik hissed, narrowing his eyes at the being opposite to him. "No, that would be too easy."

"Too easy," the other mused, his eyes half-lidded with thought. Light danced in the violet emptiness, and then met Malik's with ferocious purpose. "Or wishful thinking?"

"That depends," Malik answered, his hands curling into fists against the wall.

"On?" his darkness prompted, raising a slender eyebrow in a sociopath's mockery of intrigue.

Malik's lip curled. "On which Marik you are."

"Well that also depends," Marik drawled, pushing himself off of the bed and onto his feet. "It depends on _you_." And there, again, was that grin. He hated that _damned_ grin.

"On me," Malik said. It wasn't even a question. It wasn't worthy of being a question. Even more, Malik knew that he wasn't going to get an answer if he asked. He was just going to be toyed with until he drew his own conclusions, no matter how close they may be to the truth.

Even in his last moments, Marik had done this. He had told him to 'choose' after speaking of death and of loss and of not taking away from those who he loved. Marik had manipulated everything so that Malik made the decision that Marik wanted, and it'd ended up being his own demise.

"On you," Marik echoed in a voice that Malik was convinced was a mockery of his own.

"You're a real prick, did you know that?" Malik snapped, also getting to his feet. All trepidation and anxiety had vanished, replaced by rage that boiled like hot water under his skin. "Either you're a fabrication of my own _guilty mind-"_

"Guilty?" Marik interjected in dark amusement. "Did you really become so attached?"

"-Or," Malik continued, his words biting off into a snarl, "you're really here, and doing your typical head-screwing before you make some stupid, grandiose entrance."

"I have become regrettably predictable," Marik mused, but that smile didn't vanish.

Malik crossed the room, his footfalls slow and deliberate. He kept his eyes trained on Marik – Marik, who had tried to kill everyone he held dear. Marik, the one who had come back, different but still infuriating and strangely willing to help. Marik, the one who had tried to overtake the Pharaoh and destroy the entire world. Marik, who had willingly played Russian roulette with his own existence, whether or not he had figured he'd be back a third time.

His feelings about this being were so mixed it just about made his head explode. Could he count Marik an ally, or was he just a ticking time-bomb waiting to go back to what he'd been before, to what Malik had always feared him as?

…Or this really was just a faux manifestation, and he was questioning himself, now.

Marik's smile grew, suddenly becoming all teeth. "There's doubt in your eyes, Malik-pretty."

"I know that."

To his own credit, Malik was pretty proud of the way that his response seemed to have completely thrown Marik. His eyes grew wide, surprise running through his typically-lifeless irises.

"I _do_ doubt myself, because I can't decide which Marik you might be, nor can I decide if this is just me needing some crazy pills," he said, fisting his hands at his sides. He looked away, glaring holes into the stone floor.

Maybe he just couldn't think straight because he hated this place like none other.

Marik raised a hand, as if to put it onto Malik's shoulder, but the human caught it by the wrist and held it aloft, away from his body. "This isn't a game," he warned, his brow knitting and rage seeping into his voice.

"Of course not," Marik assured him, studying his face. He flexed his hand, and Malik let it drop with a wary expression. "I am surprised, however," the spirit continued, "that you almost seem to have expected this."

"I'm no fool," Malik replied. "I knew the symptoms."

"Not the symptoms of a common illness?" Marik queried.

"You are no common illness," Malik replied harshly, snorting at the thought of it. Perhaps more akin to a plague, back during Battle City, and perhaps now more like a parasite, but never a 'common' sickness. A common sickness could be cured.

Marik had the gall to look surprised. "You wound me," he mourned, pouting a bit.

"Good."

Apparently that changed things a bit, because they began to circle each other like a pair of competing lions in preparation for a fight. Marik's expression had turned predatory, his eyes roving over Malik as if to determine some kind of game plan.

Malik didn't even know what was going on enough to devise a pre-game plan. He was disoriented and disillusioned by all of this, not wanting to spend any more time in the place he had grown up in.

Their circling was halted by the Eye of Horus beginning to glow into sight on Marik's head. Malik tensed immediately, his hand reaching to the deck strapped to his thigh, but was mortified to realize that it was not there. In this dream realm, apparently, Malik's deck did not exist.

Marik caught the movement, which only made his dark grin even larger. "Forgotten something, Malik-pretty?" the spirit queried. The mockery in his voice was clear as crystal.

"Fuck you," Malik snapped, instead bringing his fists up in an instinctive street-fighter style. He learned a lot about dirty-fighting while leading the Rare Hunters, and he was certain that in a physical match-off, he could take Marik.

His actions only brought a barking laugh out of Marik, and the spirit rounded on him with a razor-sharp smile. "Harsh words, Malik-pretty, but you and I both know that we're evenly split. Neither of us will win if we play this game."

Malik didn't miss a beat. "You're suggesting another kind of game," he inferred. Still, he kept his fists up and ready.

The Eye glowed a little brighter on Marik's forehead. The grin turned from sharp to feral in an instant. The room shifted and changed, becoming a swirling myriad of shadows and stars, darkness pockmarked with little flickers of light. The light belied this place's nature, though. The light was impossible to reach and it always would be, in this place.

"The Shadow Realm," Malik said, glancing around warily. He didn't like that Marik had taken him here, but he also could escape, in this place.

"Your memory of it," Marik corrected, the smile dropping for an instant. "It is not the real place."

That was noteworthy, Malik decided. Marik had never been one to pause before sending everything to Hell, and by that, he meant the Shadow Realm.

"I challenge you to a Shadow Game," Marik said, his voice turning monotonous, almost robotic. "You must find the place in your mind where your deepest nature waits."

"My deepest nature…?" Malik queried softly, raising his eyes to Marik's. In the beginning, when Malik had first taken the Rod, he had played such games on people. It had started with thieves and muggers and the general trash that stalked Egypt and scarred her name. Later, it had become innocents, and then Malik had begun his plans for Battle City.

Still, through all of his exposure to Shadow Games in their truest, darkest nature, he had never been the victim of one. And he wasn't sure how he felt about that, because no one with darkness in their heart won those games.

"You are limited in time," Marik continued, as if he hadn't heard Malik's echo in the first place. "And you can only open one door."

"One door," Malik mused. There were two, he knew, in his mind. There was the one in which his soul resided, and the one housing Marik's. If Marik was still here, that is.

"Do you know why this is happening, Malik?" Marik demanded suddenly, and it jerked Malik out of his musings with a near-audible snap. Malik found Mark's harsh gaze, and had never seen such frustration on the spirit's face before.

Clearly, his own confused expression was not what Marik wanted to see, and the spirit snorted mockingly. "You lack conviction and have lost your way. You are a danger to the others. Why do you think your wound has not healed to scarring? You hold back your own magic with your own feelings of incompetence."

Malik was surprised by the venom in the spirit's voice, by the way that Marik spoke conviction as if he felt a similar thing. It was eerie to see so much emotion on the other's face.

"You make play at manhood," Marik said, his smile returning as their surroundings warped into a stone hallway that led into shadows on both ends. "I find, however, that you are still too much a boy."

"You don't know a _thing-_"

Malik stopped abruptly, however, when he realized that Marik was gone. He stood alone in the hallway that led to nowhere – or did it lead to everywhere? His entire body shook with rage at Marik's total audacity to accuse Malik of foolishness. He had been doing his best, all this time.

Hadn't he?

He glanced on either side of himself. On his left, a simple door adorned with a brass knob. This was his door. Malik knew what lay inside. Before his banishing to the Shadow Realm, when Marik had first taken his body, Malik had spent time (what seemed like forever) trapped in that room.

On his right, there was a door that seemed almost warped in comparison, like a twisted reflection of the door it opposed. The wood was chipped and broken, dirty with disuse. It had holes in the wood, but there was no light inside, only darkness. The handle was hanging slightly off-kilter, swaying slightly in a breeze that Malik couldn't feel.

One door represented the light, the other the darkness. One was clean, purposeful – a door that was meant to be opened and closed, a door that served its use without question. The other, however, was strange and mysterious. It was uncared for and broken. There was probably something deeply poetic about the whole thing.

The door reflected the soul that dwelled inside it. That was something that Ishizu had often spoken of. A bleak doorway made for the entrance to an even darker soul room.

Marik had to wonder, briefly, at how whenever Marik appeared, the involvement of doors seemed to have become a pattern. Part of him found it incredibly weird. The other part of him whispered that it had to mean something. Marik was nothing if not a creature of purpose – born as the canister for Marik's anger, then as a more driven monster seeking to topple the Pharaoh. Third, he had become a quiet companion – not necessarily wanted or appreciated, but there because he needed to be.

So what purpose, this time, did Marik serve?

He was going to lose it. They had too much on their plates already. Adding this kind of thing was only going to make things worse.

"When I get out of this, I'm wringing your neck, you bastard," Malik sneered into the nothingness, certain that Marik could hear him.

_This is a mind game, _Malik thought to himself, pausing to take a deep, cleansing breath. _As all Shadow Games are, in essence, I'm a player in a game of mind and soul. People lose because they think hedonistically, and that's what the instigator counts on._

Malik surveyed the doors. Why did Marik even have a door? Marik was just an extension of his own soul. He had taken a semi-sentient form unto himself, sure, but he wasn't a proper spirit. Unlike Bakura and Ryou, Marik couldn't survive without Malik. He was a parasite trapped with one life, and once Malik passed on, so would Marik.

"_You lack conviction and have lost your way."_

Malik had never had a "way" to begin with. They had gone on an impromptu trip and had stumbled upon another world that they'd never known – and in this case, ignorance had seriously been bliss – existed. And after stumbling upon everything, they had just kept stumbling.

Lacking conviction, though? Malik had almost died in this.

But was that why? Ever since he had come back, since he had chosen to survive over martyrdom, had he lacked the conviction necessary to keep them safe?

After all, the whole mess at the Ministry of Magic had been his fault. He had screwed everything by accidentally washing off his own makeup. Malik had been a criminal – a brilliant one, if he could say so – for years. Such a rookie error should have been far beneath him.

He had nearly gotten them killed. Sure, things had worked out. If Percy Weasley and Amos Diggory had not been there, however, they would have died. Without a shadow of a doubt, they would have been killed on the spot. That risk had been his fault and his fault alone.

By referring to the 'deepest' part of his soul, what was Marik trying to get at? Malik knew that, deep down, he felt weak and useless, an incapacitated veteran soldier in a war that he should have died in.

The point was addressing whether or not that had taken away his "conviction".

Darkness roiled around him, shadows ticking at his ankles like fog. They clung to his legs, seeking physicality, seeking his touch.

He had neglected his Shadow Magic for so long, since he sustained that injury. He'd been blocked from his own power, courtesy of Bellatrix Lestrange. They hadn't been sure if the magic festering in his wound would impact his own abilities. Since they'd already known that wizard magic forced theirs to operate through a funnel, they had all agreed that chancing it would be dangerous.

Ryou had insisted that they didn't need Malik even more injured or worse. Malik had wanted to try, try something small, or try something that would give them certainty. He didn't want to be weak but left wondering if he really was, or if he was just being pathetic and letting others fight his battles.

He turned, resting a hand against the familiar wood of his soul room. He knew, from practice, that this was usually the only door. Marik usually existed in a state of nowhere. Since he was a fragment of Malik, not a true soul, he could not have his own soul room.

If Marik was a fragment of his own soul, his own mind, then how could it be that Malik couldn't figure out this whole…thing? Was it even a real Shadow Game? Even if it wasn't, Malik couldn't take the chance. Shadow Games were monstrous things, and if he didn't take it seriously, he could end up soulless and lost. And in a state like that, he was a help to no one.

Cursing, he slammed his fist against the door. He was getting nowhere.

"_Why are you acting so upset about all this?" _asked a very familiar voice. _"After all, this was your decision. You chose to survive."_

Marik lifted his head and turned, locking eyes with his reflection.

In the hallway stood his mirror image – not Marik – looking just like the "him" from before this: purple mid-length shirt adorned with golden chains, beige khaki pants, all outlined with a dark purple cape that hung from his shoulders.

"I did choose to survive," Malik agreed, staring straight into his own eyes.

The other-Malik smiled a wry smile that made him look much older than he was. _"But you didn't do it because you wanted to survive, did you?"_

And there, out in the open, revealed to him by his own mirror, was the truth. He _hadn't_ come back because he wanted to be alive. It roiled inside of him, this sudden wondering of: _how long had he wanted to die? _

"_You don't," _answered the other-him, and the words were followed by a simple shrug.

Their eyes met again.

The other-Malik snickered at him. _"You really don't get it, do you?" _Other-Malik saw the blank look on his face, and the reflection let out an exasperated sigh. _"I cannot be this dense."_

_You lack conviction_.

"I don't want to die," Malik supplied, and the other regarded him with an intrigued smile. "It's more like I lack _conviction_ in ensuring my own survival." He spat the last part of it out with disgust. It was true. It was true and he'd known it for so, so long. Even since Shadi had appeared before him, he'd known.

He'd completely lost his will to keep going, because after they'd all lost so much, he couldn't fathom why they would just keep trying.

"_Death changes a man,"_ his other-self said with quiet assurance. _"Even you – even we –could have never been so self-centred to expect that we'd be the exception."_ Violet eyes raised and met a slightly less corporeal violet. _"…Right?"_

Malik chuckled without humour. "…Right."

So it was about him not taking care of himself, of him letting part of himself fall into disrepair…

He surveyed the doors. One stood crisp and clean, untouched because his soul was protected. His soul had been saved. The other: broken, forgotten, and worse for wear. Malik smiled. This had never been intended to be something serious. This was every bit the "game", and none of it the "Shadows".

He moved past the ghost of himself and flung the door open, fingers pressing into the uneven, splintered wood. He stepped into the room, crossing his arms and glaring at the figure opposite to him.

"That was incredibly anti-climactic, I'll have you know," Malik declared to the figure opposite to him, rolling his eyes to add to the effect. "A poor excuse for a Shadow Game. You owe me a duel, next time."

Marik smiled, pressing two fingers to his lips in a gesture that Malik recognized from Ishizu. It was what she did whenever she was laughing at something secretly. Marik met his eyes with amusement. "You needed the wake-up call."

"Probably wasn't your call to make," Malik sneered, but then his expression softened. "But thanks. I get it. I think I already got it, before you pulled this little…'thing' of yours," he gestured around them. "Really, though? This isn't even a real soul room. You're a part of me, so you don't have a soul room of your own."

Marik nodded slowly and deliberately. "Indeed. You knew that this was the way to the 'deepest' part of you."

"The part of me that's broken," Malik concluded. "Your symbolism is a bit obvious."

Marik's smile faded, replaced with an all-business leer. "The intervention was necessary. You are forcing the others to make contingency plans in case you are unreliable, and you will get everyone killed if you keep going the way you have been."

Malik winced at that, forced to look away from the intense, accusatory stare. Yeah, he'd kind of known the whole time that he was losing his touch. He was forgetting things and erring in ways that had left even Ryou, trusting as he was, concerned.

"You feel helpless due to your injury, and by that feeling you have made it so," Marik said.

He'd known that, too.

"You need your magic," Marik said to him, his voice firm. "With what is coming, with something so beyond these wizards' capabilities, you will need every scrap of Shadow Magic you can conjure."

"I know what's coming," Malik answered quietly, his forehead creasing. "I just don't know how we're going to stop it."

"Well," Marik drawled, "it would appear that you should _try_ to find out, instead of just uselessly chasing the shadows of these child-magicians."

"So we should go back to the school," Malik observed. He had seen the look on Bakura's face, though. There was no way that they would just leave after finding Harry Potter. He was integral to something, important in the rebirthing process, and Bakura would not let someone like that just walk out of the picture.

Marik snorted. "You should do what is best."

"Is this going to turn into some kind of 'follow your heart' speech?"

Marik did not dignify that with a response, only levelled a flat glare at Malik. Malik returned the favour and crossed his arms.

"Last time, I manipulated the choices to ensure survival," Marik said, a wanton grin crossing his face. Of course he'd find some kind of malicious pleasure in having manipulated the "game" to his preferred ending. No matter the changes between this and the last incarnation, Marik was still _Marik_. The grin vanished, however, replaced again with a frown.

_Jeez, _Malik thought to himself, _I think he's switched facial expressions more times in here than ever before in his entire existence._

"Not this time."

Malik also had to note the way that Marik's voice had taken on a decidedly creepy echo. He also realized that the room had begun to warp, shifting and roiling.

"This time, it is your decision."

The scene changed, and suddenly Malik was back on the beach. He gasped, reeling backwards and grasping wildly for some kind of hold. His hands only hit the hot sand, but the reality of it made him sag backwards.

His heart was pounding, a steady thrumming of blood rushing in his ears. He tried to slow his heart by taking slow, deliberate breaths. In the wake of that faux-Shadow Game, Malik found himself in a sense of vulnerability that he was not overly fond of.

A voice whispered through his mind: _"well, you seem to have a choice to make."_

Well, so he did.

A wry smile pulled his lips back. Oh, he was pretty sure that the decision had already been made.

Malik's eyes snapped open and his hands suddenly went to his torso, feeling for the bandaging – almost like a second skin, he'd needed it for so long - that surrounded his wound. Except the movement brought no pain, nothing like the dull throbbing he was becoming so used to. He sat up and pulled his shirt over his head, his movements free and normal. Foregoing all calm, he threw the shirt to the side and ripped the bandages off of his body.

He let the wrappings fall to the ground, his eyes wide with wonder as his hand trailed down the length of his body. The skin was clear of injury, normal save for a thin line of lighter skin. It trailed the history of his wound like a pen's stroke, however the pigmentation difference was so small it would be impossible to detect from a distance.

His breath whooshed from his lungs as if he'd been punched in the stomach, and he fell back against the sand, disoriented completely. His injury was healed. Somehow it had happened, completely beyond all reason – but then, what was reason to someone like him, anyways?

He could just have been going crazy.

So maybe it was just a trick of the mind, but somewhere deep within himself, he could swear he heard a door opening.

End Chapter

Malik's personal weakness is something that the character has been struggling with for a while, now. I figured it was about time to clear that up before things got nuts.


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